


Noir

by perfeggso



Category: NCT (Band), TWICE (Band)
Genre: 1980s, Angst, Do heed the homophobia tag bc it’s a pretty major plot point..., Gang, Imagine punch era Yuta for the beginning, Light BDSM, M/M, Mentioned Jung Sungchan, Mentioned Osaki Shotaro, Minor Character Death, Oh also, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Drugs, Side Samo, Slow Burn, Smut, Triads, Unprotected Sex, Yakuza, also Johnny x Mina bc I felt like it idk, also the regular mvs haha, because wayv, dom/sub at times, lots and lots of smoking, mafia, mentions of exo members cuz why not, racism/xenophobia :/, set in Japan!, there's drinking but no mention of abuse or anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 94,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24887278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfeggso/pseuds/perfeggso
Summary: Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 62
Kudos: 160





	1. Week I pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary of Japanese:  
> Gaijin - foreigners  
> Zainichi - Japanese-born Koreans  
> Oyabun - mob boss  
> Sokaiya - unit within a Yakuza family that orchestrates high-level corporate extortion  
> Omedetou - shortened version of happy birthday

Yuta was easily recognizable. He was of about average stature, but that was the first and last thing about him that could be described as “average.” Yuta reckoned that anyone living or working in the areas in and around Ueno Park and Akihabara could describe him to the police if they felt like it, but they all knew better, didn’t they? He had a striking face, which others often remarked could have landed him in an idol group in another life. He kept his hair in an undercut which swept over his head suggesting ever so faintly the shape of a mullet, but he would never call it that. Mullets were for Mötley Crüe, not for men of taste. Although he kept the bottom of the haircut in its original black, the long part was died white – an aesthetic choice that Yuta not only liked but which also made him feel nearly invincible in its destruction of his anonymity. 

Yuta was freshly 24, a prodigy of sorts in his own world of the Inagawa-kai family, where he had been promoted to _Shategashira_ lieutenant last year and was now the commander of a small _gaijin_ and _zainichi_ unit operating in Shitamachi. There was gossip that his position was due only to his relationship with _Oyabun_ Hirai Goro’s daughter, but he knew better than that which was all that mattered.

It was late October and a crisp evening as Yuta weaved his way down Chūō Avenue. He drew plenty of looks: of fearful recognition but also of admiration from certain young women. Not one for subtlety, he wore a double-breasted dark blue snakeskin suit and a jumble of rings and piercings. A scar transversing his right eyebrow and the tendrils of tattoos reaching out from his sleeves and collar confirmed his connection to the underworld for anyone who saw him, but that was alright if it gave Yuta some space to walk in the crowd. 

He took a right into an arcade where Mark was sitting absently behind a yellow desk and flipping through the pages of the latest _Young Magazine_ installment of _Akira_. When he saw Yuta, he immediately straightened to attention. 

“Good evening _Shategashira!”_

“At ease,” Yuta said casually, “how’s business today?”

Mark went back to slouching over his comic and shrugged as Yuta surveyed the room.

“Average,” hazarded Mark, “I’ve been hearing the machines in back pretty consistently my whole shift and Jungwoo’s still somewhere fixing shit and trying to get people to buy computers.” 

Yuta rapped his knuckles against the desk. “Having any luck?”

Mark shrugged again. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Yuta withdrew from the desk with a performative huff and straightened his jacket. Sometimes he wondered if he should be less familiar with his subordinates, but he couldn’t imagine acting strict like some other lieutenants; he liked most of his men too much to be anything but personable. So as usual, Mark’s cautious sass went unacknowledged. 

Yuta made his way to the back of the low-ceilinged white room. The walls were lined with cubbies full of manga, tech and porn magazines, and cassettes; string lights; mirrors; Nintendo arcade games; and in the center of the space, you could peruse tables of PC’s in various states of disuse alongside Mazinger Z figurines. Jungwoo had stationed himself in the middle of the clutter, fiddling with the hard drive of an ’82 Apple. 

“Jungwoo!”

“ _Shategashira_!”

“At ease.” 

“This just came today!” remarked Jungwoo, referring to the computer. “The computing power on this thing is off the charts! A shame I have to fuck with it.”

“A necessary sacrifice,” said Yuta, not giving a damn about the technical side of this business since he couldn’t begin to understand it. “How many have you sold?”

“Seven today,” said Jungwoo, sinking into a chair with his whole weight and pushing at his cuticles with the end of a screwdriver, “so that’s 225,000 yen, give or take. I can get the books if you want.”

Yuta smiled, catlike. “No, that’s alright. Good work. Although I’m confident you can do better still.” 

Jungwoo stood again sharply. “I assure you I can, _Shategashira_!”

“Good.” 

In reality this was not a bad amount of revenue for the day so far. The Inagawa-kai paid the property and business taxes on the building to shore up favor with the local government but didn’t technically own it. The real owners covered all other expenses and utilities, meaning the Inagawa people ultimately could keep more of their profits than the average business owners, and this setup wouldn’t change because the landlords knew the local precinct had Inagawa’s back and that Yuta – or if not him, someone else – would not hesitate to pull a katana on them if they suddenly took issue with the arrangement.

 _No_ , thought Yuta, _this is good_. Jungwoo was selling near his quota, and with the viruses he had installed, many of the unsuspecting customers would eventually be bringing their devices back for costly repairs.

Yuta looked at the unassuming door behind Jungwoo. 

“Johnny in there?” he asked.

Jungwoo nodded curtly in response and Yuta passed him to open the door, stepping into the windowless back room. Smoke hit Yuta instantly, warming his lungs along with the stinging scent of hard liquor. The room may have been devoid of natural light, but it did have plenty of colorful artificial illumination: a wall of well-populated pachinko machines making brassy noises so loud Yuta could have sworn they were coming from inside his skull. Each machine was a hypnotizing box of glowing neon, flashing lightbulbs, and shiny silver balls clacking in a perverse rhythm with the players’ chorus of disappointed groans and victorious whoops. The men at the pachinko machines were all around middle age, smoking their heads off and depressing the shit out of Yuta. 

Yuta swept his gaze over the rest of the room; the weathered purple booths on the other wall, the checkerboard tile on the floor, the mildewy walls; until he landed on Johnny. He was in the bar in the back, under a dusty glass chandelier, smoking with a young woman seemingly attached to the front of his mahogany suit. 

Johnny didn’t notice Yuta until he was a few paces away, and Yuta sensed a flicker of disappointment on Johnny’s face when he did look up, although Yuta couldn’t reproach him for that and he did well to hide it. 

“Ah, _Shategashira_ ,” Johnny greeted languidly, and Yuta acknowledged him back with a nod of his head. Johnny was a few months older than Yuta, so he could afford to be more casual with his superior. The only reason Johnny didn’t have Yuta’s position was that he indulged too much in life’s vices and wanted to keep it that way.

“Can we speak somewhere a bit quieter?” Yuta asked, and Johnny nodded, whispering something to his companion before leading Yuta out the back doorway into an alley. Yuta breathed the crisp autumn air in once outside, a relief from the stuffiness of the pachinko bar. Yuta reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter, smoking to match Johnny and giving Johnny time to get situated next to him against the wall. Yuta had to look up to speak since Johnny was a good bit taller than him and when he did, Johnny’s face was sharper than usual in the shadows of twilight. Yuta took a long drag of his cigarette. 

“So,” said Johnny, “you know when yet?”

“A month and a half from today,” said Yuta, “gives us enough time to finish preparing, I think.”

Johnny nodded, grinding the burnt-out end of his cigarette into the brick behind him. “Good. Can you relay the details? What do I need to do?” 

“You and I and the other _Sokaiya_ members will be going into the Mitsubishi executive offices with the goal of getting 130,000,000 yen and the right to ship arms and drugs to our Triad allies in Hong Kong disguised alongside the company’s car and electronics exports.”

“Goro’s getting ambitious, huh?” Johnny figured aloud. 

“Yes,” Yuta answered, “in return we’re offering our own men as indefinite security details for commerce in the South China Sea and for members of the executive board, personally.” 

“Mercenaries and bodyguards, I see.”

“You could call it that.” Yuta took another drag of his cigarette and let the smoke escape his mouth in a meandering cloud. Once it dissipated, he said, “but as to your role, you’re in charge of gathering information on Sato Kenichi. He runs Mitsubishi’s finances and although we’ve found ample evidence to use against the CEO and I’m still working on some leads for the VP – Miyazaki is his name – we need dirt on as many of the higher ups as possible. They can’t refuse us or we’re dead.”

Johnny nodded, lighting himself another cigarette. “Sato Kenichi. Understood. Any leads on the guy?”

“Yes, I have them here.” Yuta pulled a small sealed folder out of the interior of his jacket and handed it to Johnny, who slipped it into one of his inner pockets without opening it. 

“Thank you, _Shategashira_.” 

“Just do a good job,” said Yuta, adding, “please.” Then he dropped his cigarette to the asphalt and ground it out with the heel of his boot. “We have almost enough stock to make the shareholder’s meeting so that shouldn’t be a problem. Also, the Triads are sending a group of emissaries to advise us on their priorities and join us at the meeting. They should be here in a few weeks or so. That is all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go meet the princess for our joint birthday dinner. We decided to combine this year.”

Yuta and Johnny pushed themselves off the wall and exchanged conspiratorial smiles. 

“Tell her I said _omedetou_ ,” said Johnny, backing away to return to his post at the dingy Pachinko bar, pulling the packet on Sato Kenichi out of his pocket and passing it between his hands. “I can’t wait to see what this Sato-san gets up to in his spare time. These executive types are all extortionists and perverts. And they call us the criminals.” 

Yuta chuckled to himself. _It was ironic, wasn’t it?_ He saluted Johnny and turned on his heel with a “work hard, please,” and that was that. The sun was setting, hot pink. He’d be late to meet Momo if he didn’t hurry, but this was important business after all. A month and a half. What could possibly go wrong in such a short time? 


	2. Week I pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter probably has the heaviest xenophobia in the whole story, so please be cautious.  
> Otherwise, happy reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Japanese glossary, see [chapter 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24887278/chapters/60215773)

They had beaten Taeyong when he had asked. He had gotten on his knees before the leader of the Specters and implored him humbly to let him join. He would be a model warrior, he had assured: would fight unquestioningly anyone who challenged the gang and never run away. He could prove himself. The Spectors’ leader had pointed to the full red circle on his white headband. _Don’t you know we don’t accept_ gaijin _?_ I’m not a _gaijin_ , Taeyong had argued, only to be met with a venomous cackle. Taeyong was sure he had felt a thin rain of spit land on him from the force of the laugh. _What are you then, Zainichi? That’s worse!_ Then they beat him. That was seven years ago, but it still carried trauma for Taeyong. 

Gassan-ya was not Taeyong’s favorite bar, but it was doing him good to laze there at the counter drinking alone, eating peanuts, and listening to a mixture of citypop hits from the jukebox behind him and a report on Mitsubishi’s rising stock values on the television hanging from the ceiling. That’s what he had been doing, until the Specters came zooming on their souped-up bikes past the front windows, hooting and hollering in their white uniforms, and banging baseball bats and rusty pipes against the pavement as they went. Taeyong cursed to himself upon seeing the group of boys speeding off to a battle, shoving a handful of peanuts in his mouth and swigging the rest of his beer before ordering another.

He could never figure out why he was always so enamored with the _Bosozoku_ boys he saw; why he had felt a need to become one. Was it his desire for a sense of identity and belonging? A need to act out against his parents’ authority? The terrifying thrill he got from imagining himself in battle, taking a bat to some poor young man’s head? Was it self-hatred? He figured the correct answer was probably all of the above. Walking around for almost a quarter century in Japan with the name Lee Taeyong had naturally brought him nothing but rejection – professional, academic, romantic, you name it. And those who had accepted him were often no better off in life than he was. Two of his best friends were locked away for petty theft, after all. 

So, Taeyong had tried to join a violent biker gang at the age of seventeen, learning to ride his dad’s old motorbike, style a pompadour, and roll his R’s in preparation to make his case. He did it because if he was going to be an outcast he at least wanted to be an outcast that someone could give a damn about. He liked the thought of letting off some steam in a grand way, of being a source of fear for prosperous average Japanese people, of claiming his own place in the warrior tradition. And it would have pleased him to have one of those bikes too. 

But it had gone horribly wrong when he did make his case, and now he was too old for the _Bosozoku_ anyway. He spent his days working at an autobody shop and his nights drinking and trying not to get too close to anyone. You see, Taeyong was a sensitive boy, but he lived in a world where it didn’t pay to be sensitive.

The bartender slid Taeyong his Sapporo over the counter as the rumble of twenty _Bosozoku_ bikes was finally fading into the night, and he downed the drink as quickly as he possibly could. It was a nice night and he needed to get out into the fresh air. 

Taeyong left the bar on the outskirts of Tokyo and rounded the corner to a sidewalk perpendicular to a small alleyway. Taeyong noticed curiously the sound of what he could only assume was an interpersonal struggle coming from the alley behind Gassan-ya: feet scraping against asphalt, heavy breaths, and urgent growled arguing. Against his better judgement, perhaps because he had exceeded his usual drink limit, Taeyong decided to investigate, clutching the switchblade he kept in his pocket and tiptoeing cautiously as if attempting to approach a spooked deer. When he got close enough to see, he found two men in trench coats hovering over the man Taeyong recognized as managing the bar in some capacity. In the dusky light it was hard to make out anything clearly, but Taeyong was pretty sure at least one of the men held a revolver. Taeyong tightened his grip on the knife and peeked out from behind a stack of liquor crates since he didn’t know what else to do and his curiosity was getting the best of him. As if that would save him. 

“I’m sorry, we’re just a little short!” The man on the ground was attempting to explain – his voice hoarse. 

“Well _we’re_ sorry, but we need 30,000 for this week.” 

“Please!” protested the apparent victim. “We’ll get it to you soon. Just – just give us a couple days. I’ll do anything you need and we won’t be late again!”

Taeyong assumed the assailants would respond with something, but instead, the man on the ground seemed to spot him spying, their eyes locking, and Taeyong’s heart plunged into his stomach as the men in trench coats turned around and aimed at him.

“Come out, whoever you are,” said the closer one, “hands above your head!” _Were they cops?_

Hesitantly, Taeyong crept out from his hiding spot and raised his arms as his lips attempted to form something coherent to say.

“What are you doing here?” Asked the other one.

 _What_ was _he doing there?_

“I – I heard something. I thought it might be a mugging…I’m sorry, I’ll just go.”

“Don’t move,” said the first one. He turned to his partner. “Take him to the van. Kid’s a liability.”

“Yes sir!” The farther one approached Taeyong and all of a sudden, his mind was spinning not just from the alcohol but also from the battle raging in his mind between the urge to run and the knowledge that he could very well lose his life. If he were a wild animal, he would be playing dead. 

Evidently, Taeyong didn’t think quickly enough, because his kidnapper had already reached him and taken off his hat to cover Taeyong’s face with. He was led to a van, then formally blindfolded and handcuffed and left to wait for the two men to finish doing whatever they planned to do to that poor bar-owner. 

The next several hours were the most terrifying and disconcerting thing that Taeyong had ever experienced. First, they took him into the city to somewhere in Aoyama, he was pretty sure, and proceeded to have a conversation about him as if he weren’t right there with a man named Gwang-suk (Taeyong noted the Korean name with a mixture of comfort and dread). Should they kill him? _Please, no_ . Should they let him go? _That would be greatly appreciated_ . Should they recruit him? _To do what exactly???_ Taeyong had deduced at this point that he was being held by one or another yakuza syndicate, but beyond that he could not have been more lost. Then, Gwang-suk suggested they take Taeyong to someone named Nakamoto and that was that: back in the car. 

A twenty-minute drive and he was marched into another building and shoved into a chair at an oak desk and finally allowed to see his surroundings. Taeyong heard a man and a woman talking muffled through a wooden door behind the desk which, when it slid open, revealed a handsome man with white hair and piercings wearing a snakeskin suit. In fact, Taeyong was briefly distracted by just how handsome the man was. 

“ _Shategashira_!” Taeyong’s kidnappers bellowed, saluting the younger man who was now seated at the desk facing Taeyong. 

“At ease,” he said coolly in a rounded Osaka accent. 

The man on Taeyong’s left spoke. “We’re sorry to interrupt you and Ms. Hirai, sir!”

“That’s no problem,” said the man Taeyong could only assume was “Nakamoto.” “Work is always my priority as you know.” 

“Of course, sir!”

The two men recounted their version of events with great enthusiasm and Nakamoto listened. When they were done, he looked at Taeyong straight-on and asked, “is this all accurate?”

The directness startled Taeyong. “Um – yes, factually that’s more or less it. But I was never trying to get into any trouble! I promise I would never talk!”

“Yes,” said Nakamoto, seeming to search Taeyong’s face. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. But you see, the Inagawa-kai simply can’t afford any loose ends, as I hope you understand.” So that’s whose custody he was in, Taeyong realized, only the third largest and second most powerful criminal organization in Japan – maybe in Asia. No sweat. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?” Nakamoto asked. 

“Taeyong. Lee Taeyong.”

Nakamoto nodded knowingly. “Mm, I figured that’s why you ended up here. I deal with all the _zainichi_.” 

Nakamoto was the first Japanese person Taeyong had heard say that word without even a hint of distaste and this fact only confused his fear even further. Taeyong had never felt more helpless. Here he was, with no idea how anything around him worked nor what it meant, his life so fully in the hands of this beautiful man across from him that it made his head pound. 

“So, Taeyong. Let’s figure this out. Where are you from? What do you do? Tell me a bit about yourself.”

_What is this, a job interview?_

“I…well…um, I grew up in Shin-Ōkubo and I uh, still live there. I work in an auto shop fixing cars. I’m 24? What else do you need to know?”

“We’re the same age,” remarked Nakamoto with a slight smile, and Taeyong wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be a means of connection between the two men or a subtle jab at Taeyong’s relative lack of status. Either way, the nervous shaking in Taeyong’s body was beginning to fade as he became more and more confident he was not in imminent danger of death. However, he couldn’t completely rule out the possibility he was being toyed with. 

Nakamoto spoke again. “How about your family?”

“We’re not very close,” said Taeyong. “We only speak very occasionally.” 

“Well,” Nakamoto responded, “we’re similar in that regard as well. Do you have a criminal record?”

Taeyong was a bit taken aback by the question, but he was speaking with a gangster, so it wasn’t too out of the blue. “I’ve stolen some shit, but I don’t usually get caught. Spent a couple nights in jail for property damage a while ago. Things like that, I guess? I was sort of in a gang with my close friends in high school, but we didn’t do much other than loiter. When I tried to join more established gangs I was rejected.”

“I see,” said Nakamoto, “well you could still always join a gang, if you haven’t already outgrown that impulse.”

Was this the recruitment his kidnappers had mentioned? How on earth to respond? “Oh?”

Nakamoto laughed, a sharp sound. He was apparently done dealing with his victim and turned to the larger of the men who had abducted Taeyong. “Find someone to go back home with him and monitor him tonight. I think we’ll make him a foot soldier. It’s better than the alternatives. Understood?”

“Yes, _Shategashira_!”

Yuta turned back to Taeyong, who had gone tense against his chair. _What’s a foot soldier? For Inagawa-kai? Would he have a gun? Could he even fire a gun?? What were those alternatives that would be unspeakably worse??? And what was he supposed to say to his boss????_

Nakamoto addressed Taeyong one more time. “I hope you understand that this is for your own good and that you won’t resent me. I'm confident that we can come to an understanding. I’ll be seeing you soon.” And with that, Nakamoto was back out the door and Taeyong was once more being hauled to his feet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw I'm learning Japanese but I'm not a native speaker so if I screw anything up I'm so sorry!


	3. Week II pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In time for Taeyong’s bday :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Japanese (for this chapter only):  
> Hime - princess  
> Neechan - literally “older sister” - a platonic term of endearment for a woman who is older than you  
> Douzo - “go ahead”/ “come in”

A “foot soldier,” as it turned out, was the smallest of small fry in the syndicate. They were mostly responsible for manning the many front businesses that Inagawa used for small change, low-level intimidation, and charity work. Taeyong found that he did get to carry a revolver around with him but was forbidden from using it in non-life-threatening situations because he had only been a yakuza for about a week and had only gotten the opportunity to practice firing the thing twice. This was both for his own protection and for the protection of the gang; almost nothing could have been more damaging than the misfiring of an illegal gun by a rookie. 

All Taeyong had needed to do to leave his mechanic job was to submit a letter of resignation, which in honesty was the most obvious solution. People were allowed to resign without a specific reason – his boss didn’t own his soul. And Taeyong wasn’t too sad to leave since he hadn’t been close to anyone working there. 

After a week, Taeyong found himself leaning over a yellow plastic desk at the entrance to a miscellaneous electronics shop in Akihabara, bored to death and resigned to people-watching. Taeyong usually avoided Akihabara because he wasn’t particularly interested in electronics nor in _otaku_ culture. More than that, he hated how the few times he had come to the neighborhood in the evening he’d been approached by creepy middle-ages men trying to entice him to go “chat” with some “lovely young ladies.”

But now he was here among the neon lights with nothing more to do with himself but try to look inviting to customers. If he was being honest, part of him wanted to sabotage the whole racket by looking purposefully glum and driving people away. Despite his sweet face, Taeyong did have an aggressive streak in him but he always considered himself principled about those who got hit by it. For instance, swindling major corporations out of millions of yen, as he was vaguely aware that Inagawa did, seemed perfectly ethical to him. Selling faulty electronics to innocent working-class people on the other hand…

“Taeyong!” Mark yelled from behind him, forcing him out of his contemplative rabbit hole of Robin Hood ethics. 

Taeyong turned around to see Mark walking up to him, a stack of colorful business cards in one hand and a badminton racket and shuttlecock in the other. _What a fuckin’ weirdo_ , thought Taeyong, although he couldn’t help but like the guy. 

Mark had been the first person Taeyong had spoken to as an unofficial member, he supposed, of the Inagawa-kai, as he was the one responsible for escorting Taeyong back to his apartment and spending the night there to ensure that he did not try to run away or go to the authorities. Taeyong didn’t sleep that night because his head was full of too many questions, and Mark wasn’t allowed to, so the two instead got to talking – as much as they could given the supreme awkwardness of the situation, anyway. 

“What do you need?” Taeyong asked and in response, Mark passed him the stack of cards as if that were an explanation. Before he got around to illustrating his intentions with words, he began bouncing the shuttlecock against his racket, twisting the string bed 180 degrees between each contact. 

“I need you to stand on the sidewalk and hand these out to people,” he finally said, still focused on his game. “They say we’re having a promotional sale. It’s supposed to drum up more business which we can handle with the three of us here instead of two. But for this to work, you need to stop scowling. Show off that charming smile of yours.”

Mark was sure a cheeky bugger. If Taeyong did stick around in this gang, he’d eventually use his age advantage to mess with the kid once their gap in experience wasn’t so large. 

“Was this your idea?” Taeyong asked. 

Mark shook his head no, pausing his game of hand-eye coordination. “It was our _Shategashira_ ’s.” 

“Nakamoto?”

“Hasn’t he told you to use his title? Or just Yuta if you want to use his name.”

Taeyong huffed a sigh. This ‘ _Shategashira_ ’ of his had really become an exasperating figure in his life over the past week. They’d barely interacted, but the coolness and ease with which Yuta always addressed him made him feel funny; as if he truly had no control over the trajectory of his life anymore simply because he was dumb enough to follow some sounds in an alley. But who was he kidding? His life might as well lead him to being in a gang. Wasn’t that what he’d always wanted? And anyway, there was a reason the Inagawa-kai had an entire Korean division and some Korean leadership. Taeyong had just imagined more bombastic motorcycle rides and fewer junk computers. 

“Yeah I remember now,” Taeyong said, shuffling the business cards in his hands and making his way out from behind his desk. “So how do I get people to take these?”

Mark walked with him to the front of the shop, his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Just smile and say ‘promotional sale: premium consumer electronics. This week only,' or some shit and try to get these into the hands of everyone who walks near you. I think you can handle it.”

“I will try,” said Taeyong. 

He found it was easier to get people to take the cards than he had expected, although his success didn’t seem to go further than that, as most people who took a card only regarded Taeyong with a confused scowl once they had it in their hands. After about an hour, a woman came walking towards Taeyong on his side of the street, and she was truly the first person Taeyong fully _noticed_ his whole shift. He noticed her because no one could have not: she was slightly taller than average, especially in heels, with long black hair blown out, a green bodycon dress, black heels, and a gold chain necklace. Taeyong thought she might have the prettiest face he’d ever seen on a woman. He also noticed her because she was staring right at him as she approached. Taeyong wasn’t fazed because he was used to nice looking girls coming onto him. They would inevitably be put off either by his ethnicity or by his lack of interest in them – whichever they perceived first – and then bad things would happen. However, the intensity in this woman’s gaze felt different as she came to stand just a few feet away. 

“Momo-hime??” Taeyong heard Mark yell from somewhere within the store. _Huh?_ Soon enough both he and Jungwoo had emerged and were greeting the gorgeous young woman. Taeyong stayed frozen to his post because he didn’t know what to make of the situation nor of his role in it. She was a ‘princess’ anyway. What business did a street rat have introducing himself to her?

Soon, though, Taeyong found he didn’t have to. She exchanged a few words with his coworkers, and they nodded, pointing her his way. 

“Lee Taeyong,” said the woman, bowing once she had finally gotten close enough to greet him. “I’m Hirai Momo. It’s good to meet you. Yuta told me you had been brought on.”

Taeyong was so confused he felt like he was floating, but he bowed back despite himself. “Nice to meet you too.” The name Hirai sounded familiar but Taeyong took a moment to place it. Then, like being slapped in the face, his brain found the missing puzzle piece that allowed him to make an association. The Hirai family ran the entire operation, didn’t they? _Shit_. 

“Why are you here, _Neechan_?” asked Jungwoo. 

Momo smiled. “Yuta sent me to retrieve you, Taeyong,” she answered, causing Mark and Jungwoo to raise their eyebrows in unison. 

Taeyong could feel the blood rush through his veins, and it felt cold. “I – did I do something?”

“Don’t worry,” Momo assured. “Everything’s alright. Yuta-san just wants to make sure you’re adjusting alright and to have you get some more target practice in with your new piece. How does that sound?”

Yuta was turning out to be the most involved boss Taeyong had ever had. He still had no idea what was going on, but at least he wasn’t in trouble and if he was being honest, he liked firing the gun and looked forward to another sanctioned opportunity. Taeyong chided himself as he noticed a piece of his mind wondering churlishly what this girl was to Yuta. _That doesn’t pertain to you_ , he told himself. 

“That’s fine,” he said.

“Great,” said Momo, winking like a girl from an animated television show or something. “So, you’ll go to headquarters and meet him right after your shift, got it?”

 _Got it_.

*** 

The Inagawa-kai Tokyo headquarters was located in a simple, box-shaped black building on the edge of Aoyama. It wasn’t a short structure – it had about seven stories – but compared to much of Tokyo’s architecture it remained strategically unassuming. Once inside the building, a tall man with dark hair and a patchwork of tattoos and scars across his exposed skin approached Taeyong and told him he would escort him to the meeting. At first Taeyong didn’t recognize him because he hadn’t gotten a good look the first time, but he soon realized that his companion was one of the men who had essentially arrested him a week ago, a fact which made his throat tighten. Taeyong also cautiously noted that the man had a fresh stump of a pinky finger on his right hand covered in bandages. Must have gotten in a bad fight.

The man led Taeyong down a series of identical concrete hallways until they reached a sliding door made of oak, at which point he left Taeyong to enter the room by himself. Taeyong hesitated for a moment but was stunned into action when he heard Yuta’s expressive voice anticipate his presence from inside with the simple utterance of two syllables. 

“ _Douzo_.”

Within, Yuta sat at the same desk where Taeyong had first met him, surrounded by expensive Scandinavian furnishings, walls of glass and concrete, and a pristine bonsai tree on a ledge behind him. Yuta himself wore black pants, a silk shirt, and a yellow velvet smoking jacket of all things. Taeyong felt something twist in his gut at the sight of him and his intent gaze but decided to file the feeling away somewhere very deep for the purposes of later contemplation. 

“ _Shategashira_!” Taeyong greeted with a salute, as he was now pretty sure he was expected to. “Would you like me to sit, sir?”

“At ease,” said Yuta, waving him off and letting Taeyong relax a bit. “No need. I’ll accompany you to the range right now, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course, _Shategashira_.”

And with that, Taeyong let himself be led back under the florescent lights of the complex’s maze-like hallways. 

“How are you adjusting, Taeyong?” asked Yuta. 

Taeyong was constantly surprised that the couple times he had seen Yuta since their initial meeting, he always made sure to check up on him. He didn’t know what to make of this. He guessed it was just standard practice – a measure to make him feel protected and ensure his devotion, or something of the sort. 

“It’s alright, I guess,” Taeyong responded. “I like Mark and Jungwoo. Johnny seems like a good guy too. In all honesty, I don’t have a lot to do right now. But I do appreciate having the position at all!” Taeyong’s tone was absolutely all over the place, not knowing where to stand between familiar and deferent. Taeyong thought he saw his little speech provoke a smile in Yuta, and suddenly that knot in his stomach was back. _Well, fuck._

Yuta spoke. “I acknowledge that you don’t have the most exciting posting. But that’s partially why I wished to speak with you today. After you.”

Yuta left that tease there. They had come to the end of a hallway to an orange door with chipping paint and a black symbol indicating that protective equipment for eyes and ears was recommended inside. Yuta held it open and Taeyong passed through.

Once in the vestibule of the shooting range, Taeyong set himself up where he was supposed to stand and aimed his revolver at the target on the other end of the room as Yuta leaned against an acid-white wall with his arms crossed and his chin raised slightly. 

“Relax your shoulders,” Yuta said, and Taeyong cleared his throat, shimmying his shoulders lower on his back in response. He took a deep breath and focused on the red bull’s eye placed on the heart of a human-shaped target, both hands on the gun. He had to refrain from grinding his teeth. 

“Wait until you’re ready,” Yuta coached, voice low and commanding, “then focus your energy and count down from three before you pull the trigger. Simple as that.” 

“Yes, _Shategashira_ .” Taeyong did as he was told, steadying himself, focusing his eyes on his target, and counting 3…2…1… _BANG!_

Taeyong felt himself sway backwards for a moment after firing but regained his balance quickly – something he had not done the first time he had shot the thing. That time, he ended up on his butt, confused and embarrassed as Mark thrashed around on the wall in a fit of performative laughter. The practice he’d had since then had helped, but so did the pressure of Yuta’s gaze. 

After a moment, Taeyong heard clapping coming from next to him and he realized he had been closing his eyes. When he opened them, he saw that a chunk of the wooden target was missing on its inner thigh. 

“We can work with that,” Yuta remarked, finishing his short round of applause. “Certainly enough to cripple, and that’s important. However, I get the sense you weren’t aiming there, hm?”

Taeyong’s breathing fumbled when Yuta began to stalk towards him. “What we need is to teach you some precision and confidence,” he explained. “We’ve got to work on your kill shot. Do you mind?”

Yuta was asking for the gun, so Taeyong handed it over with an “of course, _Shategashira_.” 

Yuta took a sideways stance, holding the revolver out with one arm, and proceeded to shoot five times in fast succession, obliterating the plywood head of the target cutout until it was nothing more than splinters. Taeyong did not care to imagine it as belonging to a real human. When he had finished, Yuta turned to regard Taeyong, and to Taeyong’s surprise and horror, he broke out into a wide grin. _God_ , thought Taeyong, _I’m alone with a psychopath and a gun_ . Although, once that thought had passed, Taeyong couldn’t help admiring the princely charm of the way the smile had spread like a sunrise over Yuta’s face. _What the fuck was going on?_

“You see?” said Yuta, ebullient, “you’ll be doing that soon enough.”

 _Soon enough_. Right, Taeyong would need to sort out his future, and soon.

“Let’s try again. Go back to your stance. We’re going to stay with two hands for now.” 

Taeyong took the gun back and repositioned himself in his starting position, holding the weapon with his outstretched arms and lining it up with his sternum. Yuta came up beside him and held his hands over Taeyong’s shoulders. 

“May I?” he asked, and Taeyong nodded, allowing Yuta to press down onto his shoulders and straighten his spine. Taeyong could feel the other man’s breath and it was sending his nerves into a state he did not need them to be in, heat crawling up his neck. 

“Do the countdown again,” Yuta instructed, “deep breath, and then fire. Don’t let your eyes close, alright? And try to stay still as much as possible. You can if you really engage your core.” 

Taeyong nodded at all the advice and tried to follow it – attempting also to avoid noticing the watchful smile blooming on Yuta’s face in his peripheral vision. He took in a deep breath of the room’s stale air and counted down again, eyes trained on the cutout’s heart and intent not to shut. 

A _BANG_ rang out once more throughout the vestibule. 

Taeyong did narrowly refrain from closing his eyes, but they seemed to have gone out of focus. Once he blinked the fuzziness from them, as if erasing an etch-a-sketch, he could see that he’d succeeded in blowing a hole through his target’s crotch.

Yuta giggled and slapped Taeyong over his right shoulder. Taeyong’s head spun. Was he supposed to be scared of this literal mob boss or not?

“I have a hunch you weren’t aiming there either, huh?” Yuta asked, and Taeyong shook his head no. “That’d definitely be an effective shot though, wouldn’t it? Might actually be better than aiming for the heart in some situations because you can make them talk while they bleed out.”

 _Holy shit._ In an instant, Taeyong became painfully aware of his reality. He was practicing shooting because he might be in a situation where he’d need to – where others would be aiming at him the same way he was aiming at this outline of a man. What if it was _him_ who got shot in the heart, or worse, shot in the dick and forced to bleed out horrifically? Taeyong felt lightheaded but managed to squeeze enough air from his lungs to speak. 

“Do you mind me asking you a question, if it’s not too forward?”

Yuta raised an eyebrow. “Shoot,” he said, obviously amused by his own word play. 

“Why am I here?” asked Taeyong. “What am I doing here now? What am I training for?” That was three questions, but oh well. Taeyong didn’t feel like being measured. 

Yuta sighed and cocked his head, eyes fluttering to regard the floor. 

“I had a feeling this would come up,” he said, smiling wryly this time. “Keep practicing and I’ll fill you in.”

Taeyong nodded and prepared to shoot again, hitting the target’s left shoulder this time when he pulled the trigger. 

“Getting closer to the heart,” Yuta observed, appreciative. “You see, Taeyong, there are only two favorable outcomes for you now that this ball has gotten rolling.” Taeyong relaxed his arms and watched Yuta begin to pace, his face steeled by caution.

“The first, which would be preferable to the family, is that you stay on with the Inagawa-kai and devote yourself to our line of work. However, I understand that what has happened was not your choosing, and you may want to return to your normal life as soon as possible. Whichever path you choose eventually matters little to what I need you to do for now, so don’t worry about it yet.” Yuta paused, giving Taeyong a moment to recover from the way his emotions had just gone topsy-turvy like his image in a funhouse mirror. Then Yuta gestured towards the gun Taeyong was now pointing at the rubber floor. “Please continue,” he said. Taeyong hit the target in its stomach and caught a hum of approval from Yuta. 

“Either way,” Yuta went on, “you will need to establish trust here. Even if you want to leave, you will have to stay on long enough and perform well enough to prove that we can trust you to be an ally even in the civilian world. Does that make sense, Taeyong?”

 _Bang!_ Left hip. 

“It does,” Taeyong replied, resigned. This was all his own fault anyway. He couldn’t help his curiosity though. “Is this something that happens often?”

Yuta chuckled slightly. _Bang!_ Sternum. Taeyong was quickly gaining enough balance and confidence to keep himself still while firing. 

“Similar situations have occurred although we obviously try to avoid them. For instance, the two men who brought you in to me have been duly reprimanded for their carelessness.” 

Taeyong was preparing to fire as Yuta said this and was immediately thrown off when his mind returned to the image of his abductor’s freshly severed finger, putting two and two together. Is that what a mistake gets you here? Worse, did Yuta purposefully assign that guy to escort Taeyong as some kind of warning? Taeyong was already pressing down on the trigger when this thought came to him and it caused him to misfire wildly, hitting the wall on the other end of the range a few feet from the target.

“Fuck!”

“Do you need me to stop talking?” Yuta asked. 

Taeyong held the gun in his left hand while shaking out the wrist of his right, as if the problem had been purely physiological. “No! Er – sorry, just give me a moment please, _Shategashira_.”

“That’s alright,” said Yuta. “You’re doing pretty well for a beginner. Take a break for a bit.”

Taeyong nodded, feeling defeated but somewhat relieved. 

“Similar situations,” he mused “Like what? If you don’t mind telling me.”

“Take Jungwoo, for example. He worked for a circuitry and computing firm that was under our thumb. He knew nothing about it – he was simply a technician and didn’t have access to the books – but when the small company had defied our understanding with them one too many times, Jungwoo happened to be unlucky enough to witness the consequences. We gave him the option to make it up to us by working for us. It was difficult for him at first, but now his closest friends are in our ranks and he gets to do what he loves while never needing to worry about money. So, it worked out in the end.”

 _Jungwoo, huh?_ Taeyong had thought the guy seemed a bit too cheery to be a natural gangster. 

“I see. I don’t really have a _thing_ though, that I love doing, you know?”

Yuta shrugged, then smiled in a way that was meant to be reassuring.

“Well, you may not love it, but you know about vehicle mechanics, right? That will be useful to us. However, to be honest I do feel for you, Taeyong, I really do. You caught my attention immediately and have weighed on my conscience. I want to help you make the best of this, and the best thing you can do now is quickly prove your loyalty both to me and to the people I work for. That way, you will get the most flexibility in the least time. That’s why I’m scheming to fast-track you to that point.”

Taeyong was mystified as to why his superior, who had implicitly threatened him into becoming a yakuza in the first place, was being so nice to him; so reasonable. 

“What does that mean?” Taeyong asked, eyes going wide in anticipation. 

Yuta leaned back against the wall and watched Taeyong from under his bangs. “I’m in the middle of a project that it would be nice if someone helped me with. It’s not inherently dangerous and it’ll give you a good idea of how we operate. If you do a good job you will both understand the world you’re now living in and if you want to stay in it, and hopefully, gain enough trust to be allowed to make that decision when the time comes.” 

Taeyong’s thumb skimmed nervously over the textured handle of his revolver, eyes searching the vestibule for some sense of reality. He felt almost dizzy with exhilaration at the idea of helping Yuta out and spending more time with him - studying him. “What’s the project?” he asked.

“An investigation.”

“An investigation…” Taeyong repeated. What did he know about investigations? 

“Yes,” said Yuta, “I’m gathering information on a certain executive at one of the nation’s largest companies. For blackmailing purposes.” 

Taeyong almost laughed at how upfront Yuta was about this. 

“Okay…”

“Is that a yes?”

“Do I have a choice?” Asked Taeyong. Yuta smiled, something almost predatory in his expression. “What would I have to do?”

“Accompany me when I go out following leads, be my lookout and my sounding board for ideas when no one else is free to help. You can be more involved depending on how well you do with that. Think you can handle it?”

That didn’t sound too out of the box for things Taeyong could do. Besides, Yuta had said “lookout” not “bodyguard” or something. Taeyong was used to fighting, but his dustups were usually with hoodlums from Shin-Ōkubo, not with armed career criminals. 

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah I can.”

Yuta pushed himself off the wall. “Perfect. Before we finish here though, I’d like to get you to hit your target.” 

The way Yuta said it so flatly made it clear to Taeyong that this was a command, not a suggestion. 

“Yes, _Shategashira_.” 

“I think I know how to help,” said Yuta, “it’s something I used to do when practicing. Do you have someone you want that to be? Someone you hate so much it makes your toes curl? Makes you want to smell their blood?”

Taeyong pictured the leader of the Specters – the boy who’d beaten him black and blue until he couldn’t hear or think; the boy who had only refrained from dragging Taeyong from a chain on the back of a car when he heard sirens coming for him, and all because Taeyong had dared to be _zainichi_. Sure, Taeyong wouldn’t mind a little payback. He nodded at Yuta, both men’s eyes going dark and focusing on the target. 

“Good,” said Yuta, placing his hands on Taeyong’s shoulders and squeezing. This time, Taeyong’s mind had gone too cold to let the contact affect him. “Now, don’t let them get away with anything less than a bullet to the heart.”

With that, Yuta pushed away and Taeyong imagined his victim, ugly smug face and rising sun headband appearing in his mind’s eye with chilling detail. _Relax, breathe out, 3, 2, 1,_ _BANG!_

Taeyong was steady as the bullet passed an inch or so from the bullseye and the sight caused a great sense of relief to wash over him, like stepping into a hot tub on a snowy day. 

When he turned around, Yuta was watching him with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest. 

“When do I start, _Shategashira_?” asked Taeyong. 

Yuta’s smirk morphed into what Taeyong could only describe as a proud grin. “You start now.” 


	4. Week II pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Japanese (new words as of this chapter only!):  
> Hosa - the rank below Yuta

Yuta had a problem: he couldn’t keep his mind off of Taeyong. He had immediately been taken in by the contrast between the new recruit’s wide eyes and soft expressions and his sharp features and rough background. However, over the course of a little over a week, Yuta had only found himself slipping farther into dangerous territory that made him question his decision to help Taeyong out by taking him on as a partner. He questioned himself when Taeyong’s shirts would ride up and expose the soft skin of his lower stomach, or when Yuta would catch his subordinate zoning out with his fingers running over his lips. These moments sometimes made Yuta feel like a creep, but it was nothing compared to the way most men he grew up with treated women. Also, he had at least a sneaking suspicion his little infatuation might be reciprocated from the way Taeyong would flush easily at any praise from Yuta, for example, or the few times when Yuta thought he heard a hitch in Taeyong’s breathing when Yuta addressed him seriously or got into his personal space. 

Yuta had always needed to be careful – his closest friends among the Inagawa-kai knew he liked men and could not have cared less, but being gay was so stigmatized amongst the yakuza and in Japanese society in general that any inkling of Yuta’s secret had to be vigorously guarded to avoid disaster. That’s why Hirai Goro had decided years earlier that at twenty-five, Yuta would, for the protection of the family, marry his daughter Momo. Momo was his best friend since adolescence and was as uninterested in men as Yuta was in women. It was an ideal arrangement, but one that had to be carefully managed. That wedding would be in a year. In the meantime, Yuta had learned to be careful with his encounters, stay in queer-friendly spaces away from work, and read small cues from potential partners since nothing would ever be clearly spelled out for him. He was rarely wrong, and he thought he would be right again about Taeyong too.

“Yuta-san?” Jaehyun’s voice on the other side of the door rattled Yuta out of another Taeyong-induced stupor and he remembered that he was in his office, leaning over his wooden desk with the Miyazaki file disassembled in front of him. Even if Yuta hadn’t recognized that warm voice, it could only have been Jaehyun who, as an unofficial member of the operation without a defined position, was one of the few people who didn’t have to address Yuta by his title. 

“ _Douzo_ , Jaehyun-kun.” The door slid open and in walked Yuta’s guest, wearing a pinstripe suit and letting his dark hair fall softly over his forehead. Unlike most of Yuta’s acquaintances, Jaehyun had neither tattoos nor visible scars or disfigurements. If it weren’t for his parentage, Yuta figured that Jaehyun would have been an innocent and upstanding member of society. In fact, Yuta wondered why he didn’t stay as far away from his father’s line of work as humanly possible, for his own sake. But, if Jaehyun _did_ do that then Yuta would be losing the benefit of one of his keenest minds. Besides, Yuta knew that Jaehyun was branded as suspicious in the outside world by default just by being a conspicuously wealthy _zainichi_ boy, so he might as well lean into it. 

“You look busy,” Jaehyun observed with a smile.

Yuta smiled back and pushed some papers to the far side of his desk, closer to Jaehyun. “That’s because I’ve been working on something. What are your thoughts on this?”

Jaehyun sat on the desk – something the average enlisted man would not be permitted to do – and scanned his eyes over what appeared to be paperwork from several banks in Thailand. 

“Looks like he’s got offshore accounts,” said Jaehyun, obviously.

“Bingo!”

“Are they illegal?”

Yuta smiled and hummed to himself in satisfaction. “Those banks are all under current investigation by Interpol for money laundering. One case has been proven. And Miyazaki might be a key player.” 

“Congratulations, _Shategashira_ ,” said Jaehyun, pushing himself off the desk, letting out a small laugh once standing. 

“What’s so funny?” Yuta challenged.

“Nothing, really,” said Jaehyun. He knew he could get away with saying whatever he wanted. “But Yuta-san, you launder money all the time.”

“I know that very well, Jaehyun,” explained Yuta, knowing the mild defiance from his friend was nothing serious. “But it’s expected from people like us.” Jaehyun scowled slightly, Yuta assumed, at his implication in whatever dirty business the Inagawa-kai did. “For someone like Miyazaki it’s – it’s a career-ending – no, life ending event since he’ll probably have to go to jail for a year or so and never be hired again. His reputation will be ruined. This information could tank Mitsubishi’s stocks for a while too. He’s supposed to be a reputable businessman, not a gangster.”

“My dad always says that companies are just like gangs;” offered Jaehyun, “the salaryman is just a glorified foot-soldier with a less interesting life and their bosses probably have more blood on their hands than they realize.”

Yuta pulled out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, placed it in his mouth, and then offered the pack to Jaehyun with the raise of an eyebrow. Jaehyun took one and as he spoke, Yuta lit their cigarettes.

“That’s why I always listen to your father, Jaehyun, and why you should too,” said Yuta, pausing to take a drag. “Gwang-suk is the most insightful bastard in this whole operation.”

Jaehyun’s face curled into a thoughtful smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. By the way, I know you have proof that these banks are crooked, and that Miyazaki has money in them, but what’s your direct evidence of his wrongdoing?”

“Ah,” Yuta remarked, letting a tumble of smoke fall from his lips. “That is forthcoming, if you have time to wait a few minutes.”

“Sure.”

After another drag on his cigarette, Jaehyun seemed about to begin a new conversation, his expression contorting into one of active thought, but at that moment, a succinct series of knocks rang out on the other side of the door. Yuta put his crossed legs up on his desk and leaned back in his leather chair. 

“ _Douzo_.” 

With that, Doyoung, who was wearing slacks, a sweater vest, and an upmarket wristwatch, opened the door with a thin stack of papers under his arm. His eyes went wide when he saw the cloud of smoke rendering the room in soft focus. Still, he steeled himself and managed a salute and a greeting of “ _Shategashira!_ ”

“At ease.”

Doyoung seemed to sigh in relief and wasted no time fanning the space directly before his face and hurrying to the one small outward-facing window in the room to open it. 

“My god, you two, this is absurd! How do you breathe?” Even in disgust, Doyoung’s voice was measured. To most, the thin, almost delicate, and usually soft-spoken man would have been difficult to pinpoint as a member of the yakuza – especially if he was covering his tattoos which he kept more minimal than most of his friends. Nevertheless, his intelligence had always been an asset to the family and any doubt of his intensity would be assuaged the minute he lost his temper, or alternately, came at you coolly with a Sten Gun. Around those close to him though, Doyoung’s vibe was still more nagging grandmother than anything. 

“Doyoung,” began Yuta, “tell me you found something good.”

Doyoung made his way back to the desk on the other side of the room, holding his stack of papers up in one hand. “Tell me you two won’t keel over from lung cancer before I show it to you.” And with this jest, he let the papers drop to the desk with a _smack_. Yuta took one more drag and extinguished his cigarette, partially to appease Doyoung and partially to free his hands. 

“All I found was the record of recent wirings, invoices, and transfers for his accounts between Japan and Thailand,” explained Doyoung as Yuta began digging into the papers with Jaehyun sitting in observation. “It appears that he’s been embezzling money from the company under the guise of a bunch of contractors and business expenses that don’t exist as far as I can tell. He’s transferred a lot of it, via some of these banks in Thailand, to a specific woman. You’ll see her information in the paperwork there. Sometimes she uses different names, but I have reason to believe it’s all one person and that her name is Minatozaki Sana.”

“A mistress, perhaps,” speculated Jaehyun, and Yuta let out a hum of agreement. 

Doyoung nodded. “That would make sense. I’ll keep on the trail from here and see what else I find; how conclusive the connections are, etc.”

“Good work, _Hosa ,"_ Yuta praised _._ "You’re dismissed if you need to be anywhere. Do you?”

Doyoung shrugged, planting himself in one of the molded wood chairs across from Yuta and Jaehyun followed suit. “I’m going on patrol with Johnny in an hour but I’m meeting him here. Might take a bit of a break. By the way, where’s Taeyong?”

Yuta had to stop a smile from overtaking his expression at the mention of his partner. “I don’t need his help and he’d been working so hard, so I gave him some time to himself. He could be practicing shooting, taking a walk, going to the _conbini_ around the corner, I have no way of knowing.” 

Jaehyun spluttered, for what reason Yuta could only imagine. He sat forward in his chair, trying to look serious. “Oi, what is this? The little prince finds something amusing, does he?”

Jaehyun held his outstretched palm in front of his face and shook his head. Yuta was a very intimidating person by most standards and was famous for his wit, but even he had moments of insecurity that his friends could exploit for entertainment. That is, until they got their asses beat for disrespecting a superior. 

“No, I promise you, Yuta-san, it’s nothing really. I’m sorry. I was just surprised because in the last, what? Almost-week that he’s been with you, you two have been pretty inseparable. And whenever he isn’t with you, you’re yelling ‘where’s Taeyong? Someone find him now!’” Jaehyun started to laugh harder at his own impression. Next to him, Doyoung adjusted his sleeve, watching, and in his calmly matter-of-fact manner stated, “we’re not idiots, _Shategashira_. We can tell when you’re distracted, and we can usually guess why. Jaehyun and I think you have it bad for Taeyong. We even bet on it with Taeil.”

Yuta found himself in a bit of a shock. Him? Distracted? Was he that obvious about it? 

Yuta pawed weakly at a piece of ash and flicked it into his ashtray, but he couldn’t help himself from smirking just a tiny bit.

“Fuck off,” he practically whispered. 

“You don’t deny it,” Doyoung observed, and now it was Jaehyun smirking, ready to watch a confession unfold.

The haze still left in the room seemed like protection from the outside world, and Yuta felt his chest filling with boldness. He didn’t have anything to hide from his friends, anyway. He only cursed the timing. Now was not the time for lust nor – god forbid – for romance. 

Yuta bit his thumb nail and sighed. “That’s because you’re not wrong,” he admitted.

Jaehyun and Doyoung exchanged tittering smiles in response.

“Yeah, go ahead and celebrate your victory,” said Yuta, nearly rolling his eyes and allowing his friends to relax and high five each other. 

It felt nice to get it off his chest officially, but Yuta also felt a heaviness in his gut as a result of the conversation. What if this was nothing more than a brief infatuation and he was jumping the gun by talking about it? What if Taeyong wasn’t interested? How was he even supposed to go about acting on anything? He was busy and needed to focus and he tried to avoid hooking up with coworkers. _Fuck it_ , he thought, _he was already distracted_. Yuta finally raised his eyes to meet the gaze of his two friends across from him. Despite their satisfied smiles he still felt the tight, dead-end sensation of a prisoner. 

“You should tell him, _Shategashira_ , if you don’t mind my advice,” said Doyoung. 

“I should, hm?” Yuta puzzled. “And how do you propose I do that?”

***

Taeyong’s sleeping face was yet another distraction. He and Yuta had been sitting in the front of Yuta’s black 1982 Corolla for a couple of hours and it was already approaching three A.M. Yuta knew Taeyong hadn’t had a completely easy time adjusting to his new life and was hardly sleeping even when he had time to, so when Taeyong’s eyes took on a telltale droopiness an hour ago and their target had yet to come around, Yuta had allowed Taeyong the option to nod off. It was good for Yuta too, as it gave him the opportunity to gather his thoughts about the sleeping angel next to him. Maybe Ms. Minatozaki wasn’t coming home that night at all – or maybe she was already asleep and Yuta had gotten bad intel. Maybe Yuta, who was growing tired himself, could allow himself a moment of weakness and drink in the image of the man beside him. Still, if the lead was correct and Minatozaki was going to be home soon, he didn’t want to miss her just because he was smitten with a boy he barely knew.

Yuta allowed himself one more moment to take in Taeyong’s serene face, admiring the flicker in his dark lashes, the slope of his sharp jaw into his smooth neck – interrupted only by the press of his Adam’s apple against the skin. Yuta’s gaze fell on the pitted scar that dug its way like a crater into the flesh next to Taeyong’s right eye. Yuta had wondered where it came from but never wanted to pry. Taeyong’s earring twinkled as it caught the reflection of a streetlight. 

Yuta couldn’t stop thinking of his earlier conversation with Jaehyun and Doyoung. He felt almost laid bare by it, and he didn’t know why. His friends already knew Yuta liked men and he trusted them enough to know they would never challenge his authority. But still, telling them this felt different somehow. Perhaps it was because Taeyong was someone who they, too, were getting to know personally; so they could make an offhand comment by accident or worse, pass judgement in ways they never could on Yuta’s anonymous hookups. Perhaps it was because Yuta felt like he was on the edge of losing control at a time when he needed as much control as possible. Perhaps it was because he knew nothing good could come from giving into his desires. Any impropriety could be used against him or Taeyong after all, and he needed to maintain his position in the Inagawa-kai and help Taeyong in the process. Still, the more time he spent around Taeyong, the more Yuta was sure he wanted to do unspeakable things to him. At least if Taeyong wasn’t interested, he could go from distracted to morose, and the latter state would be a marginal improvement for his ability to focus.

Yuta had asked how Jaehyun and Doyoung would suggest he approach Taeyong with his attraction. Jaehyun councelled him to treat the situation as if it were a heteronormative one: as if Yuta were confident and straight and there were no stakes in the interaction. Besides, said Jaehyun, if you think he’s interested then all those things might as well be true. Doyoung, on the other hand, decided to play devil’s advocate and suggest that Yuta confront Taeyong with the information that he knows Taeyong is gay (which, again, he didn’t). Once he had Taeyong scared and talking, only then should he reveal his true intentions. Obviously, neither tactic was a viable option, so Yuta found himself left to his own devices once more.

Yuta sensed motion in his peripheral vision and jolted to attention, watching as a young woman scurried down the sidewalk and up the stairs of the small house he and Taeyong were staking out. 

“Oi! Taeyong!” Yuta yelled, hitting his partner in the arm and waking him, wondering to himself if the violence of the action wasn’t partially a means of relieving some pent-up sexual aggression.

Taeyong raised his eyebrows and looked around, bleary. “Right there! It’s her.” Taeyong followed Yuta’s outstretched finger and noticed the woman just in time to see her finish turning her key in the lock and slip inside. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed, realizing what was going on. “Should we go knock on the door or something?”

As they spoke, a few orange lights illuminated the windows of the house. Yuta shook his head. “No, it’s too late at night and she’d be suspicious. She’s likely already in a sensitive situation being a millionaire’s mistress. Besides, we’re only here to confirm her location for when we come back before the meeting. We want to give her as little time as possible that should could use to inform the Yamaguchi-gumi if it goes wrong.”

“So, mission accomplished?”

Yuta grinned his signature grin; wide and almost unhinged under bright eyes. “Mission accomplished.”

Taeyong nodded, seeming to suppress a shiver, and turned his head to the house which had returned to its dark quiet. “I still don’t understand why we can’t just go around to some neighbors to confirm her identity.”

Yuta tutted, hoping maybe to provoke a clearer reaction from Taeyong. “Too risky,” he explained. “If we do that what will happen? They’ll all tell her the next time they see her that the yakuza were asking about her. We have her I.D. photo; it’s all under control.” 

Taeyong nodded, a contemplative pout settling on his face and sending Yuta’s blood rushing. 

“ _Shategashira_ ,” he began, “why’d you take me on this recon mission with you if you were just gonna let me sleep?”

Yuta shrugged. “It looks good for you if you can prove you accompanied me. Good for your case so you can gain more freedom.” Yuta cleared his throat. “Can I drive you home, Taeyong?”

Yuta thought he saw a hint of pink bloom on Taeyong’s cheeks, but it dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. Taeyong nodded, eyes gluing to the floor mats. 

“Thank you, _Shategashira_. But if it’s too out of the way –”

“Nonsense,” interrupted Yuta. “Just tell me where I’m going.”

The dark, tree-lined reprieve of Ms. Minatozaki’s neighborhood eventually opened up into the neon jungle which consisted most of the city. 

“Take a right up ahead,” Taeyong directed. 

Yuta took the turn and soon the car was rolling by a street famous for its adult businesses. A love hotel here, a strip club there. Taeyong made a sound in his throat. 

“What is it?” asked Yuta. 

“I was just figuring that the girl we were watching for and her Mitsubishi man probably meet up in places like this.”

Yuta wondered what Taeyong was getting at. “You’re probably not wrong,” he said. “Though I’d imagine they do it in nicer parts of town.”

“It’s kind of despicable, no?” Taeyong asked, seemingly to himself, head leaning sleepily against the window. “These guys get power and then suddenly they can do whatever they want. Lie to their wives, launder money, you know? Keep left.” Taeyong paused as Yuta followed his direction silently, allowing him to finish his thought. 

“I can’t really imagine you guys doing that, with your samurai code of honor and all that.”

Yuta chuckled. This boy either had Stockholm Syndrome or was purposefully trying to get some kind of result out of his musings. “Taeyong, you forget we’re career criminals. Adultery is the tamest thing some yakuza get up to.” 

Taeyong smirked, making Yuta surer the other man was playing him to some end. His tired brain felt suddenly electrified. 

“Whatever,” said Taeyong. “Just promise you won’t cheat on Momo with some other woman. I’d lose all respect for you. I’m the tall apartment on the right up there, by the way.” 

Yuta’s whole body went stiff. _This boy_. He decided to be honest with Taeyong – at least to the extent that he could still backtrack at any moment. 

“That shouldn’t be difficult for me, Taeyong,” he said, pulling over to the curb. “I don’t think about women all that much. Haven’t been with many, either.” 

Taeyong didn’t move to get out of the car. Yuta waited in anticipation, feeling both relieved and like he’d dug himself into a hole. He watched how Taeyong’s face roiled in thought, expressions materializing and evaporating as quickly as bubbles in a simmering pot. 

Taeyong sighed, finally speaking. “Well have you been with any men, then? Do you think about men?”

Now it was Yuta’s turn to sigh. What had he done? This was so dangerous. The hopeful look on Taeyong’s face egged him on, but what if it was all a trap? What if Taeyong’s entire appearance in Yuta’s life was a setup to ensnare him? He’d barely known him for two weeks. Yuta could kill people but he couldn’t make a decision in this moment. What did Doyoung say about confidence, again? _Fuck it._

“I – yes, Taeyong, as a matter of fact, yes.” Yuta looked straight ahead over the steering wheel, feeling like his center of gravity was stuck somewhere in the seat below him and praying to anything at all for Taeyong to just get out of the car. Instead, he felt the other man inch minutely closer.

“Do you…do you think about me?”

 _Shit_ . Yuta was not equipped for this. He was used to spaces where he could be clearer on the rules of engagement – where his work wasn’t so wrapped up in his sexual impulses. He dared a glance at Taeyong, who’s eyes were blown out in anticipation. _Yes_ , Yuta thought. God, he wanted to say yes, but he had some sorting to do in his own mind before he could. He gripped the steering wheel and steeled his face and voice. 

“I don’t think it would do either of us any good for me to answer that question,” he said lowly, and Taeyong drew back. The look of shame on Taeyong’s face immediately made Yuta want to recant; he was digging himself into a bigger hole. 

“I’m trying to protect you, Taeyong, and I think this is the best way to do that,” he tried to clarify. “I hope you understand. I appreciate you accompanying me today, but I need you to go inside now so I can go home. Please.” 

Taeyong nodded and turned to open the door with minimal movement, as if trying to take up less space. Once outside the car he leaned over and said, voice distant with formal intonation, “Good night and good work today, _Shategashira_. Thank you for helping me. I understand, and your secret is safe with me. Excuse me.”

Yuta watched Taeyong bow and hurry to the front door of his building, disappearing within. Yuta couldn’t remember the last time he felt this shit, but he kept playing it over and he could envision no clean ending to the scenarios where he and Taeyong gave in to each other. Yuta started to drive back the way he came, turning the radio on to avoid slipping into the murk of his mind and having an accident or something. _No_ , he assured himself, _you did the right thing_. It would have to be this way between them; it was for the best. 


	5. Week III pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much excitement ahead :)  
> (including a short moment of graphic violence so heed the tag)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Japanese (new words this chapter only!):  
> Shatei - Little brother - a junior position in the yakuza  
> Kumi-in - "enlisted" member of the yakuza  
> Wakagashira -2nd in command i.e. Jaehyun’s dad

Every day at work since the night in the car with Yuta was torturous for Taeyong. He found himself wishing he had just been left alone at the electronics shop in Akihabara but no – Yuta had to pluck him up and complicate an already complicated situation. Maybe that was what Taeyong deserved for getting his hopes up and prying. Yuta had been glum for the first couple of days and Taeyong thought he caught him trying to approach the topic a few times, but Yuta would either drop it before he even opened his mouth or else Taeyong would remove himself from Yuta’s presence. Eventually, Yuta seemed to decide that the best way to handle what had transpired was to not handle it. He went back to acting cordial and more or less professional, and Taeyong figured he should too even if he couldn’t always shake the memory of the humiliated tears which escaped his eyes that night. 

It had been four days when Taeyong found himself in a communal space at headquarters, sulking over a sour plum onigiri he’d bought for lunch at Lawson. Doyoung, Jaehyun, Johnny, and Taeil were there with him, having a smoke break and waiting for orders from the _Oyabun_ or from Yuta. Well, all but Jaehyun, who was only there to distract himself from his studies. Taeyong knew from the way he and Yuta had been acting that everyone probably suspected something – but no one asked. 

Johnny was talking to the others about some girl he was seeing while, in the corner, Doyoung was, as the only non-smoker, listening and practicing throwing a small knife into a corkboard. Taeyong wasn’t really paying attention and was sitting in the opposite corner next to the open window so he could taste his food. 

“Taeyong!” yelled Johnny, clearly trying to knock Taeyong out of his stupor with some good cheer. “You should come around to my place this evening. I’m closed tonight so we can all get drunk and have a grand old time. These guys will all be there, right?” The indicated guys nodded their heads. “Unfortunately,” quipped Doyoung. 

“Right,” Johnny continued, “what do you say?”

Taeyong chewed his food slowly. He didn’t have to think about what he’d do, he just felt like taking his time. “I don’t think I can,” he explained, “I’m going somewhere with Yuta tonight. For his project.” 

Johnny cocked his head, expression betraying concern. “Well maybe you two can swing by after. Just let me know if you decide to.” 

“Alright.” 

Taeyong felt like his general demeanor had brought down the rapport in the room that had existed during whatever bawdy story Johnny was in the midst of telling before. The only sound for several beats was the _THWACK_ of Doyoung’s knife lodging into its target. Finally, Jaehyun spoke. 

“What are you two doing?” he asked Taeyong. 

“We’re going into Shinjuku to meet up with someone named Donghyuck who has contacts that might be helpful. Do you know him?” 

Taeil spluttered. “Oh, you haven’t met Donghyuck yet?” he asked. 

Taeyong paused his chewing, wondering if there was something he should be aware of that might be concerning to him. 

“No,” he said, “is that a problem?”

Taeil laughed again, the dregs of his earlier outburst. “Just be on your toes. He’s a street kid, kind of like you were, but infinitely more obnoxious and he likes to test the new recruits. You’ve got to establish dominance before he gets too much under your skin. I know you don’t want to look like a little bitch in front of Yuta, yeah?” 

“Oi!” Jaehyun warned Taeil with a quick glare. “Maybe cool it with that.” 

_THWACK!_ Everyone turned their attention to Doyoung. “That kid is Satan spawn,” he said coolly, going to retrieve his knife from where it was lodged. 

“Oh, you know you love him though,” Johnny jested, then turning his attention back to Taeyong. “But don’t worry about it; he’s not even old enough to have a driver’s licence – you can handle him.”

Taeyong just nodded. 

“I never said I didn’t love him, Johnny,” said Doyoung with a sly smile. “I am a Satanist after all.” 

“Oh, bullshit,” Taeil interjected. “You just want to sound clever.” 

***

That evening, Taeyong met Yuta at their pre-arranged spot below an elevated highway. Yuta greeted Taeyong curtly – although Taeyong read some of the discomfort on the other man’s face more as guilt than contempt – and introduced Taeyong to the young man by his side. 

“Taeyong,” he said, “this is our associate, Donghyuck. Donghyuck, Taeyong.” 

Donghyuck was slightly shorter than Yuta, with shaggy black hair and a round, jovial face. He had a couple of Inagawa-kai themed tattoos on his neck and wrists and carried a baseball bat with him. _Must be a confident kid to get away with that_ , Taeyong figured. 

“I’ve been told to watch out for you,” said Taeyong by way of a greeting.

Donghyuck smirked. “I have no idea why that would be,” he sing-songed. “If those guys at headquarters can’t handle a _shatei_ then I think that says more about them than it does about me. Now,” he continued, grinding a foot into the gravel below him and clinking his bat against the ground, “shall we be on our way?” 

They started under the overpass towards an area populated by office buildings and construction projects. Since they were on the edges of Shinjuku, in a sort of no-man’s land between neighborhoods, there weren’t many people around and Taeyong wondered to himself what kind of weird stuff went on in the shadowy corners under the highway once the sun started to set like it was. Mostly though, he just tried to avoid getting pooped on by the pigeons loitering above. 

“Where are we going?” Taeyong asked. 

“Donghyuck is our go-between for gaining information on the operations of other yakuza groups. He knows the small-time gangs that do business with them informally, since that’s the world he was part of when we plucked him up,” Yuta explained. “We’re going to go meet with one such gang in their hideout.” 

Taeyong nodded as they approached a wall of gray buildings. “What does this have to do with Sana-san?” he asked. 

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” said Yuta, looking the closest to normal spirits that Taeyong had seen him in days – probably because he anticipated a big break in the investigation. Taeyong thought Yuta might know more than he was letting on, but he was mostly just happy to feel some of the tension between them letting up. Even if their interaction in Yuta’s car scarred Taeyong every time he laid eyes on the other man, he knew it was in his best interest to be personally liked by his greatest advocate. 

The three continued walking on the desolate sidewalk and, out of curiosity, Taeyong turned to Donghyuck, who had inched uncomfortably close to his side. Taeyong chose to ignore that. 

“You ever join the Bosozoku?” Taeyong asked, eyeing the baseball bat: a favorite of the biker gangs.

Donghyuck raised his eyes at Taeyong like he was an idiot. “No!” he said. “Besides, you think they’d take me? Fucking fascists.” 

“I was just wondering about the bat,” explained Taeyong with an almost faraway laugh. “One time I got beat up with one just like it.” 

“Oh yeah?” Donghyuck asked swinging the weapon around viscerally with an intense expression which reminded Taeyong of himself a few years earlier. “Then you understand how I feel about Bosozoku. I stole this baby from the leader of the Black Emperors!” 

Donghyuck skipped out ahead of Taeyong and Yuta a few steps and turned around to walk backwards, holding the bat over his shoulders with one hand. He reached into his pocket, rummaging around for something. 

“Speaking of stealing,” he said, pulling Taeyong’s wallet from his pocket, “you need to be more aware of your shit, _kumi-san_.” 

Before Taeyong could make any words materialize to express his shock and irritation, Yuta spoke for him. 

“Hyuck,” he said, “that is wholly inappropriate. I’m going to have to request that you give my partner his wallet back right now.”

Donghyuck threw the wallet at Taeyong with just enough warning for him to catch it, then turned the right way around. Yuta sped up to catch his subordinate and place him in a playful walking headlock. 

“That was very disrespectful to your elder,” he chided. 

Donghyuck faked a choking sound and spat on the sidewalk to his left, causing Yuta to let up off of him. 

“I’ve worked for you for longer,” he complained. 

“Damn, now I know why everyone warned me about you,” said Taeyong, replacing his wallet and patting himself to confirm the presence of his other possessions, having finally regained his voice. “Brat.” 

“Oi!” Donghyuck spun around, wielding his bat and only calming down when Yuta placed a hand on his shoulder and plucked the weapon from his hands. Taeyong laughed and Donghyuck looked at his boss in disbelief. 

“Your men are totally out of control, apparently!” he whined, and Yuta tutted, spinning Donghyuck around and recommencing in the direction of a large under-construction high rise. He pulled Donghyuck into his side. 

“Now listen,” he began, “you certainly don’t get to tell me when to discipline my men. Alright, _shatei_?” 

Yuta let Donghyuck go as he nodded begrudgingly. “Yes, _Shategashira_.” 

“Good,” said Yuta. “I’ll kick your ass if you try anything else.” 

Taeyong barely registered the end of the interaction playing out in front of him because he was too busy trying to process the flow of blood he felt at the insinuation that he should be ‘disciplined.’ 

They stopped before the chipped doorway of the high rise. The structure seemed almost complete, but it was difficult to tell under the scaffolding. 

“Here??” asked Taeyong, growing more confused by the minute. When he was a teenager he had sometimes messed around with his friends in rundown buildings and other sketchy locales, but never in an active construction site. 

Yuta nodded mildly and turned his attention to Donghyuck, handing him back his bat under the condition that he be good and control himself. Donghyuck took the bat back with a pointed glare and went inside. Yuta looked at Taeyong. 

“After you,” he directed. 

Taeyong followed Donghyuck up several dilapidated sets of stairs. The interior of the building was about what would be expected; lots of brick, concrete, raw drywall, and exposed wiring. Some of the walls were damp from unfinished plumbing and the farther they made their way up the stairs, the more convinced Taeyong became that this project had been abandoned for some reason. 

Finally, they came to a steel door which Donghyuck pushed them through, and then to an equally dank hallway that smelled of duckweed. There was barely any light on account of it being dusk, and this fact made Taeyong’s skin prickle. 

“Last door on the right, _Shategashira_ ,” Donghyuck instructed as Yuta moved past him down the hall. Taeyong followed all the way until Yuta had entered the indicated room, at which point he felt something hard and rounded brushing against the back of his head. He paused where he was just on the outside of the naked doorframe and put his hands up. Looking to his side, he realized that Donghyuck was looking at him, smirking but angry seeming at the same time, and holding his bat up to Taeyong’s head as if teeing him up. 

“ _Kumi-in_ ,” began Donghyuck, “this is strike two. I thought you seemed soft. And Yuta’s soft enough already. If you want to survive together you need to be more aware, got it?” 

Taeyong nodded, trying not to seem too intimidated by someone four years his junior. He heard Yuta yelling for them from inside the room. 

“Point taken,” he said. “May I be on my way?” 

Donghyuck nodded, bumping his bat lightly against Taeyong’s head for good measure before pulling it away. 

“Don’t let there be a strike three,” Taeyong heard Donghyuck say behind him as he entered the room. 

Inside was an industrial attic of sorts with lots of metal beams, trash scattered over the floors, and a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling on a wire, illuminating three late teens to early twenties looking boys along with Yuta at a plastic table. 

“What kept you?” asked Yuta. 

“Haechan!” yelled the tallest of the boys, and Donghyuck approached the table with a sunshiny plump-cheeked grin. _What a contrast_. 

“Sorry,” said Taeyong, eyes on the grimy floor. “Also, Haechan?” 

“Nickname,” Yuta explained. “I think he uses it as a code name with his friends.” 

“I see.” 

“Who’s this guy?” asked one of the boys, almost yelling.

Yuta motioned towards Taeyong. “Jisung, Jeno, Jaemin, this is my new associate, Taeyong.” 

“Nice to meet you,” said Taeyong and the three boys, each of them tall and rail thin, bowed unenthusiastically and returned the greeting. 

“Yuta-san,” began the one in the middle. He had a squarer face than the others and if the order of their introduction was anything to go by, he would have to be Jeno. Taeyong wondered for a moment why they didn’t have to address Yuta by his title, but he figured it was because they didn’t technically work for the Inagawa-kai. 

“You need more information on this girl, right? Sana-chan?” Jeno held up a small black and white photo of the girl Taeyong and Yuta had stalked the other night, walking with an older man in a suit.

“That’s her,” Yuta confirmed. 

The boy on the far end of the table, Jaemin, leaned forward into the light. “Listen, boss, I don’t think you’ll like what we have to tell you.” 

Taeyong snuck a glance at Yuta’s face, feeling the nerves start to creep up on him, but Yuta’s expression remained completely placated; he showed no indication of worry and this calmed Taeyong down a bit. Only a bit, though. 

“Please, just tell me whatever it is,” said Yuta openly. “I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse.” 

“Okay,” Jisung began, “essentially, Yamaguchi is holding Ms. Minatozaki hostage. They’ve got her working Miyazaki for cash as like, a sugar baby, but little does he know all the money he’s wiring his girl through shady Thai banks is really going right into the pockets of a yakuza clan.” 

“We don’t know how she got mixed up with them,” explained Jeno, “but she is, and we’re pretty sure she’s doing it because they’ll hurt her if she doesn’t.” 

Yamaguchi, Taeyong realized, would have to mean the Yamaguchi-gumi, only the largest criminal family in the country. How did his situation just keep growing more and more outlandish? Taeyong watched Yuta’s reaction and finally thought he caught a hardness seeping into his face. 

“Fuck, Yamaguchi,” Yuta practically snarled. “Okay, this isn’t ideal but if we play it right and don’t allow them to catch wind of us, we could use this situation to our advantage. Did you get this straight from them?

“Yeah,” Jaemin assured, “we heard it from our contacts in the Yamaguchi-gumi! But listen, that’s why you need to make sure we have protection, because we’re really sticking our necks out for you and they might have more men but the Inagawa-kai owns Tokyo, so we expect you can manage to look out for us.”

“Oi, Jae, maybe you shouldn’t talk to a _Shategashira_ like that,” warned Jisung. 

Jaemin whipped around to look at his friend. “Listen, do we need to take this out to the roof or something? Because I’m just trying to ensure our safety and since you’re not down with that, I might as well give your ass a preemptive beating.” 

“Come on, guys, let’s not cause a disruption,” said Jeno, laughing awkwardly and placing a hand on each of his friends’ shoulders. Then, he turned his attention to Yuta. “We humbly implore you, sir.” Still, Jaemin and Jisung continued arguing over him, that is, until Donghyuck slammed his bat on the ground with a resounding _CLACK!_

“Shut the fuck up, you guys!” The three young men all froze, silence reclaiming the space around them. Yuta’s face remained calm although Taeyong heard him let out an impatient sigh, and Taeyong himself had to suppress laughter. He used to be just like these boys. 

Donghyuck continued. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t embarrass me in front of my boss, thank you.” He turned to Yuta. “Please excuse them, _Shategashira_.” 

Yuta smirked. “Perfectly alright,” he said. “Jaemin-kun, I’m sympathetic to your concerns and I assure you that you will have ample protection from the Inagawa-kai be it from your friend, Donghyuck, Taeyong, or any of my men. You are also welcome to use our headquarters and safehouses if need be.”

Jisung, Jeno, and Jaemin, let out a collective breath. “Thank you very much, sir.” 

“Of course,” said Yuta. “We appreciate what you have done to help our mission, and I recognize that you did not have to. That being said, I hope you will understand that protection comes with a certain level of surveillance. With your proximity to our rivals, we have to be sure you can continue to be trusted.”

The three boys nodded nervously, exchanging reassuring looks with Donghyuck. “We understand, sir,” confirmed Jeno. 

“Good,” said Yuta. “Well, then. Back to the matter at hand.” 

“Do you –” Taeyong began, cutting himself off when he noticed everyone staring at him. They had probably forgotten he existed. “Sorry, um, do you think this thing with Ms. Minatozaki and the Yamaguchi-gumi has anything to do with us? With our plan?” 

Yuta smiled, his first genuine smile that Taeyong had seen since their misunderstanding last week, and it caused a rush of pride to fill Taeyong. 

“That’s an excellent question, Taeyong,” said Yuta. “Do you boys have any incite?” 

Taeyong caught Jisung and Donghyuck sharing a brief, quizzical look. 

“Well, we can’t be sure unless we talk to someone higher up,” began Jisung, “but that’s certainly a likelihood. I mean, they have their ways of finding things out just like you do, and I know they wouldn’t want you getting this deal.” 

“My guess,” said Jaemin, “is that they’re going to blackmail their way into the meeting in a month and try to outmaneuver your Mitsubishi arrangement. It would be a ballsy move since, like I said, you guys are much more powerful within the city, but Yamaguchi are nothing if not ballsy, wouldn’t you say?” 

“I’d imagine you’re correct,” said Yuta. “That’s all for now, then. Thank you again, you three. Donghyuck?” 

“Yes, _Shategashira_.” 

“You stay with them. Taeyong and I will be heading out.” 

Donghyuck saluted and his three friends bowed, thanking Yuta for his consideration.

*** 

“Starting to think like an investigator, I see,” remarked Yuta once he and Taeyong were back down on the street. Taeyong started. 

“Oh, really? I – I just thought it was an obvious question. Sorry I interrupted.” 

Yuta began to walk back in the direction they came and Taeyong followed. “You didn’t interrupt,” he said with a sideways smile. “No one was talking. Besides, that was about to be my next question. I’m just glad you’re starting to feel comfortable being involved.” 

“Oh,” said Taeyong, not knowing what to say to that. He felt tingly even though he now knew he wasn’t supposed to. “ _Shategashira_?” 

“Mm?”

“Are you scared?” 

Yuta laughed suddenly, making Taeyong jump and proving, at least, that his nerves were on edge. “Scared? There’s no use in being scared, Taeyong. Although I wouldn’t fault anyone if they were.” Yuta began walking once more. They were just clearing the overpass highway. “Are you?” 

Taeyong thought for a moment. He’d been in plenty of fights and dangerous situations, so he was used to threat. If he was being honest, he wasn’t so much scared as he was consumed by a sense of dread.

“Not exactly,” Taeyong stated. 

Yuta repeated, “Not exactly.” The lights of central Shibuya were slowly becoming visible – like an illuminated cargo ship on the sea at midnight. Taeyong weighed the appropriateness of bringing up what had happened between them four days earlier, getting the sense that Yuta was still trying to ignore it and move on. Taeyong felt like he needed closure, but Yuta began to speak before he could. 

“I’m sorry this happened to you Taeyong,” said Yuta. Taeyong huffed. He was getting a bit sick of the pity speech. “No, listen for a minute. I know this situation seems really crazy, but I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen; been around it my whole life. I’ll handle anything that comes at me and anything that comes at you, alright? And I don’t underestimate you. You’re smart, a quick learner, and you’ve got spark. I know that because I’ve worked with people like you for a while now.” 

“What people like me?” asked Taeyong. “ _Zainichi_?” 

“No, not just that,” Yuta clarified. “People who’ve had to scrap just to exist. That’s the exact type you want in this line of work. That’s why I have confidence in you. I know you can scrap.” 

Yuta’s words soothed Taeyong, although he wanted to punch him at the same time. He knew this wasn’t exactly flirty – more like, professional encouragement? – but Taeyong felt like he was being led on by all the compliments. 

“I see,” he said mildly. “I will try to live up to that.” 

Yuta chuckled, exhausted by formal talk. “Are you tired, Taeyong?” 

“Not really, actually.” 

Yuta smiled. “Good, because I told Johnny we’d be joining.” 

***

There had been almost no one in the area until Taeyong and Yuta got closer to central Shibuya. Almost. Taeyong had noticed someone shortly after agreeing to accompany Yuta to Johnny’s place; a man dressed in dark clothes and walking a good ways behind Taeyong and Yuta. He wasn’t doing anything in particular to call attention to himself, so Taeyong didn’t pay him any mind. 

He didn’t pay any mind either when he noticed the man entering Shibuya station after them. The station handled millions of commuters every day, after all. It was only when he and Yuta had boarded the Shibuya line and he spotted the same man in the next car over that Taeyong instinctively brushed his hand over the interior pocket of his leather jacket, where his gun was hidden. Still, he assumed he was just being overly cautious. Yuta didn’t like using his car if he didn’t have to because the plates could be tracked, but Taeyong found himself wishing for the false protection of being alone in a personal vehicle. 

_“Akihabara-eki. Please be cautious of the closing doors.”_

The electronic woman’s voice rang through the train as Taeyong and Yuta descended onto the platform. Taeyong glanced to his right, making a mental note that the same man was also getting off, and practically pulled Yuta towards the exit under the guise of trying not to get separated in the rush of passengers. He heard Donghyuck’s voice in his head: “ _don’t let there be a strike three_.” 

Taeyong walked out ahead as he and Yuta started down Ameyokochō, passing food stalls and vendors of knock-off Nike sneakers. 

“You know how to get there, right Taeyong?” 

“YeahIdo,” Taeyong huffed, and Yuta grabbed at his hand to pull him around, stopping them both in the middle of the busy pedestrian street.

“Taeyong,” said Yuta, “are you just that eager to have some fun, or is something the matter?” 

Taeyong’s body was jittery with the impulse to move, and it only got infinitely worse when he caught a glimpse of the same dark-clothed man over Yuta’s shoulder. 

Taeyong yanked Yuta forward. 

“Taeyong, what the fuck?” Yuta looked angry, eyes dark and brow knitted. If he hadn’t been so scared, Taeyong might have found the expression attractive. 

“ _Shategashira_ , I’m very sure we’re being followed,” he explained, practically dragging both himself and Yuta through the crowd of evening revelers.

Yuta stole a glance behind them and confirmed Taeyong’s fear. 

“Shit,” he said, “I think that’s Yamaguchi. Let’s go.” 

Yuta took the lead this time, navigating their surroundings more efficiently than Taeyong had. Yuta had Taeyong bend his knees as they walked, trying to disrupt their pursuer’s vantage point, and Taeyong silently cursed Yuta for feeling the need to dye his hair. Finally, they came upon an alleyway they could use as a shortcut to Johnny’s bar, thinking they had managed to lose the man. 

“Here,” said Yuta, pointing to a dumpster about halfway down the alley. “We need to hide behind this for a second, so he doesn’t see us when he passes.”

Taeyong, as designated lookout for Yuta during this whole operation, took it upon himself to peak out from their hiding spot in case something went wrong. He watched as throngs of passers by ignored the alley, but none of them were the tall, dark-clad Yamaguchi agent. Taeyong hadn’t been this nervous since high school, when every day he would return home for the day not knowing if there would be nationalist gang members waiting at his house to drag him away. Still, back then if he could get enough distance between him and his attackers, he was probably safe. Now, he knew for a fact, everyone who wanted to hurt him was carrying a gun. Every cell of his body felt like it was trying to evaporate; the only things grounding him being the metal heft of the revolver in his hand and the outline of Yuta in his peripheral vision, sitting on the ground and pulling Taeyong down to earth like a heavy stone.

“Why didn’t we just stay in the crowd? He couldn’t shoot that way,” asked Taeyong, voice uneven. 

“Because,” Yuta explained, “this is more direct and if he keeps on our trail, he keeps on our trail. Better to get in a shootout with him here than guide him to all our colleagues and put them in danger too. He might have associates ready to pounce when they know the location of Johnny’s place. Just trust me on this.” 

Taeyong sucked in a breath as he watched the man from Yamaguchi turn the corner down the alley. He’d been able to see them the whole time. 

“Damnit!”

“We need to run,” said Yuta urgently. “We can’t stay here and let him get closer and corner us.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Taeyong repeated, shaking and feeling fully gone as Yuta got to his feet next to him and the man stomped towards them. 

Yuta took his gun out and Taeyong heard the click of the safety coming off. Yuta put a hand on Taeyong’s arm and looked him in the eyes, steady. 

“Remember, Taeyong,” he said, “no use in being scared.” Yuta smiled his patented Cheshire Cat smile and with that was up and running before Taeyong could even think. Taeyong followed instinctively, turning around after a moment to check the progress of their assailant. His eyes went wide as the man slowed to pull something from his pocket – a gun, undoubtedly. Taeyong stopped and steadied himself and his weapon just in time to catch the black shine of the handle showing from behind the man’s jacket. _No strike three, no strike three, no strike three!_

“ _Shategashira_ , look out!” 

_BLAM!_

Taeyong stumbled half a step back, panting and letting the weight of the gun pull his hands down to his thighs. 

“Holy shit…” he said, absently. The Yamaguchi member was a few yards from him and Yuta; where he’d been when Taeyong fired, struggling simultaneously to pull his collapsed right knee from the concrete and to pick up the gun he had lost his grip on when Taeyong shot him. Blood was seeping, dark and thick, from an open gash over his kneecap. 

Taeyong watched as Yuta passed by his right shoulder, striding with brutal grace to the now pathetic man who had given Taeyong the fright of his life just a minute ago. He kicked the gun away before the man could get to it and then crouched on the ground next to him, holding a pistol to his head at point-blank range. Yuta looked pissed, but in a way that Taeyong had never seen before, like he could have skinned the guy alive and enjoyed it. 

“Oi! What’s your name? What’s your position in the Yamaguchi-gumi? Are there others with you?” demanded Yuta. 

“I’m not telling you anything, you, you fucker,” the man barely managed to get out with his ragged voice. “God damnit.” 

Yuta stood back up and put his foot on the man’s thigh, just above his injured knee, pushing down. The man howled and Taeyong’s stomach churned at the horrifying scene. 

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” asked Yuta, laughing mirthlessly. “I know what you guys are up to. Seems foolish to try starting a gang war after such successful coexistence, but your leader’s always been a bit dim, hasn’t he?” Yuta nudged the man’s head with his gun as Taeyong started smelling iron. 

“ _Shategashira_ , should we leave I –” Taeyong began, but Yuta cut him off, singularly focused. 

“We have another three minutes or so until the police show up. Alright,” he continued, turning his attention back to his victim. “Never mind your name and rank. Tell me though, are you guys really going to go through with this? What are you doing with Minatozaki Sana?” 

The man spat. “All I’ll say is that you Inagawa bastards will get what’s coming to you!” he panted. “We’ve let you have Tokyo for too long. You know how easily we’d take you down if we just tried? You think you’re intimidating? Fuck you.” 

Yuta tutted, “that’s really too bad; you’ve wasted your chances. If your men are so confident why don’t they just attack already instead of sending in useless assassins like yourself?” 

Yuta shot the man right through the head and Taeyong nearly shrieked, turning his head away immediately when he thought he saw something a little too pink to be blood hitting the brick wall on his left. He wanted to scream – wanted to ask Yuta how the hell he could bring himself to do that – but he found that he couldn’t speak. He realized all of a sudden that they were in public, noticing in terror that there were pedestrians trying to get a view of the alley. 

“Hurry,” Yuta instructed, and Taeyong followed in horrified and awed silence until they reached the back door of Johnny’s pachinko bar. 

Yuta stopped before going inside and clapped his palms over Taeyong’s shoulders. “Sorry you had to see that,” he said, lips curling just slightly. To Taeyong’s surprise, he didn’t feel any need to push Yuta away, despite knowing now the kind of shit he could do. “But remember all that to remind yourself that this is no joke.” 

Taeyong nodded, eyes glued on Yuta’s, still in a bit of a stupor. “You need to stop apologizing,” he said, allowing himself a small smile. “It’s your ride and I’m just someone who fell into the sidecar. It’s not your fault and I’m not your responsibility.” 

Yuta let out a breathy laugh. In the distance, Taeyong heard the quavering notes of police sirens.

“We should get into the party,” said Yuta, “but before we do, thank you. You saved me, Taeyong.”

Taeyong couldn’t even process the statement before Yuta was turning and slipping through the door.

The music which had been seeping through the door came at Taeyong with a pulverizing intensity when he got inside. He found himself in a grimy pachinko hall with machines, booths, and orange lighting. On the wall next to the door was a fully stocked bar manned by a yellow-Hawaiian-shirt-clad Johnny. Every member of the Inagawa-kai’s 15th _Tora_ regiment had congregated around the bar along with Jaehyun and a few young women Taeyong didn’t recognize. The room was cloudy with smoke, but despite the assault on their lungs, Mark and Donghyuck had cleared a couple tables in the middle of the room to do some kind of pre-choreographed dance to the song that was currently playing. Taeyong was pretty sure it was “Back on the Chain Gang” by the Pretenders. 

There was a general noise of excitement when Yuta made his way into the room, followed by a smaller whoop for Taeyong. 

“You made it!” said Johnny, gleefully. 

“Man, you look like shit, _Shategashira_ ,” observed Jungwoo. 

“Oh yeah?” mocked Yuta, “while guess what, I’m still sexier than you so who’s the real winner here?” 

“Oooooh shit! You just got destroyed, man,” Mark interjected, pausing his routine. Jungwoo rolled his eyes.

Taeyong wanted to plaster himself against the wall like one of the traditional watercolor prints of tigers that Johnny had up. He couldn’t understand how Yuta’s demeanor could change so dramatically so quickly. 

“In all seriousness, though,” said Yuta, “today has not been easy.” 

“Oh yeah?” Johnny asked, “come sit. I’ll make you a drink and you can decompress. You too, Taeyong.” 

Johnny served Taeyong a Sapporo (“that’s all you want?”) and broke out the Suntory he kept for special occasions for Yuta as Yuta recounted their encounter with the Yamaguchi-gumi. By the end, everyone was stunned into a brief silence as David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance,” played like an ironic joke in the background. 

“Shit,” said Doyoung, “this is going to throw a wrench in things. At least we know their plan. But they can’t know we know.” 

“Agreed,” said Yuta, sipping his whiskey. “Anyway, I know this is a bit of a bomb for us, but this was supposed to be a fun night and I didn’t come here with the intention of bumming you all out. We’ll have plenty of time to work it out tomorrow.” 

“Wait!” said Donghyuck, approaching Taeyong at the bar. “Johnny, can I get a shot of shochu?” 

Taeyong looked at Donghyuck with curious eyes, still a bit scared of the kid. 

“I propose a toast,” Donghyuck declared once he’d been handed his drink, “to our new man Taeyong for showing his stuff and watching out for our _Shategashira_!” 

He and Taeyong exchanged a smile as Taeyong protested weakly. No one heard him. 

“ _Kanpai_!” the whole room yelled. 

Taeyong cringed. “ _Kanpai…eyy…arigato, arigato_ …” he mumbled, doing jazz hands for some reason. 

“Now LET’S DANCE!” yelled Taeil from somewhere behind the bar, and everyone spluttered laughter at his enthusiastic drunken English. It didn’t deter a girl in a blue silk minidress from sauntering over to him, though. _Hoo, wouldn’t that be easy?_ thought Taeyong, taking a swig of his beer. 

One beer turned into two; then three, then four, then who knows how many? The relative mildness of the drink was stopping even lightweight Taeyong from acting out, but he did note with a bit of concern that he hadn’t eaten anything since that onigiri at lunch. Maybe he should stop. 

“Need another?” asked Johnny. _Or not_. 

“Sure.” A very pretty girl in a printed knit dress came up behind Johnny while he was getting another Sapporo from the fridge. With the short-sleeved shirt Johnny had on, Taeyong could see all the intricate tattoos which practically writhed over his arms. He realized that he’d never seen Yuta’s arms before, wondering if they looked like that too. 

Taeyong watched apathetically as the girl tried to dance against Johnny and he whispered to her that she needed to calm down while he got his friend a drink. Taeyong wished, stupidly, that it was him and Yuta. He tried to remind himself that Yuta was a sociopath who didn’t want him anyway, but sadly, that didn’t help. 

“You want a shot in this?” Johnny finally asked, referring to the beer, more of a suggestion than a question. “A shot for the shooter?” 

“Why not?” Taeyong wondered aloud by way of an answer, ignoring the dreading feeling which came back at the mention of the shooting. Johnny poured a shot of shochu in the beer and handed it back to Taeyong. The resulting beverage already made Taeyong’s head hurt in anticipation of the next morning.

“Mina-chan,” Johnny snapped sardonically when the girl tried again to get a rise out of him, “why don’t you get to know Taeyong here? He’s new; you’ll like him. Talk about knee-capping bad guys or makeup or something, I don’t care!” Taeyong flinched at the mention of makeup, wondering if it was a subtle jab at his sexuality. He figured it was nothing though, while also making a mental note that Johnny was a bit of a dick when drunk. 

Mina sat down on the stool next to Taeyong, sighing and sipping from her lemon sour. Then she smiled, and Taeyong was knocked out by the sheer aesthetic beauty of it. 

“Hey,” she said. “Man of the hour.” 

Taeyong tripped over a response, finally settling lamely on “I don’t know about that.” 

“Oi!” Taeil was yelling somewhere, so loudly that Taeyong and Mina had to place their conversation on pause. “Johnny!” 

“Yeah?” said Johnny, holding a rag and looking up from a shelf under the bar. 

“Do these machines work?” asked Taeil, looking pretty out of it at this point as he fawned over the pachinko machines. 

“Like, in general?” 

“No, right now.” 

Johnny sighed. “Not really, Tae, I turned them off. Why do you care?” 

“I wanna play!” Taeil slurred. Taeyong giggled when he saw Doyoung make a face that communicated something along the lines of ‘kill me now’ and down the rest of his highball. 

“You don’t wanna play that anyway, man,” said Johnny, throwing the rag over his shoulder. “They’re rigged. I don’t want you losing a bunch of money and then blaming me tomorrow.” 

“Rigged? Really?” asked Taeil, incredulous. “That’s kind of crooked, man.”

Johnny threw his hands up in exasperation. 

“A n y w a y,” Mina restarted. “So, you’re new. How did that happen?” 

Taeyong recounted the story of how he had fallen into his position with the Inagawa-kai and would probably be going insane if it weren’t for Yuta, funnily enough. He omitted the part where he pined for a week and then got flatly rejected. 

Apparently, the situation behind the bar was continuing to deteriorate even past Taeil’s outbursts, because once Taeyong finished the broad strokes of his story, there was yet another interruption. 

Jaehyun, who had spent most of the gathering sat in a booth, flirting with a girl, came out of nowhere into the center of the space and pointed at Yuta, who was in the middle of a conversation with Mark. 

“Yuta-san! My friend! I have been dared to wrestle you!” He was grinning and looking hyper charged and chilled out at the same time. 

Yuta balked. “Me?? You really want to do that?” 

“I’ve been dared!” Jaehyun repeated. “A true man must fight with honor when the occasion is upon him!” 

Mark started to do the thing where he spazzed out all over the place instead of laughing. Now the whole room was balking. 

“I think he needed to be cut off a while ago,” Taeyong whispered to Mina. She just sighed. 

“I bet you there’s something a lot stronger than booze in him,” she said, voice resigned. 

“Well alright then,” Yuta agreed, getting up just like that and rolling up his sleeves to reveal the tattoos Taeyong had figured would be there as Jungwoo and Mark cleared some tables away to make room. 

“To the death!” said Jaehyun, pointing at Yuta again. 

“Um – no!” yelled Johnny. 

“Let’s ignore them,” Mina suggested, swiveling her stool to face Taeyong.

“Sounds good.” The two of them clinked glasses as the sounds of a physical struggle mixed with the rhythm of “Cat’s Eye” by Anri coming from the jukebox. 

“They’re tiring, huh?” Mina prompted. 

“Tell me about it,” Taeyong felt the hard alcohol in his drink burning the back of his throat as he took a sip. “You ever seen someone get killed, Mina?” 

Mina’s expression looked flatly put-off for a moment before she gathered it back up. “No, Taeyong, I can’t say that I have.” 

“Sorry,” Taeyong said, feeling like an idiot. “That’s really morbid, huh? I just – I’m still kind of in shock and this party’s been a lot for me to process.” 

“Yeah,” said Mina, eyes skimming over her knees. “I bet. You know how I met Johnny?” 

“How?”

“The oldest profession,” she said. 

Taeyong’s brow furrowed for a second. “Oh! Oh…” 

“It’s alright, I know it’s unglamorous,” said Mina. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to sound judgmental – I promise.” 

“No, no, I know. But listen, I think if I was a guy who’d grown up in my same situation I’d probably be sitting where you are, and in all honestly after watching the kind of things Johnny gets himself into, I really don’t know if I’d be equipped to handle it. You want my advice?”

“Sure?”

Mina leaned in so she could whisper over the fight and the music. “Do what you can to get out of this as quick as possible. I know you’re worried higher ups than these guys will track you down if you try to run off, and you’re right about that, but the minute the _Oyabun_ and _Wakagashira_ decide you can be trusted you should remove yourself. That’s what I’d do.” 

Taeyong nodded, a little too out of it to know how to respond. He settled on a mildly accusatory “But you stay.”

“I’m not the one getting shot at,” said Mina. “Today? That was just the tip of the iceberg.” She shrugged and looked at Johnny, “besides, I have someone pulling me in.” 

_I do too_ , Taeyong wanted to say but couldn’t, only in part because it wasn’t fully true. 

Mina turned her attention to the wrestling match happening on the tile floor and Taeyong followed suit. Jaehyun was cackling and holding a yelling Yuta down below him. The image made Taeyong feel like _he_ had consumed something stronger than alcohol. 

Johnny came around to Taeyong and Mina on his way to the jukebox. “Watch this,” he said with a smirk. After fiddling with it for a couple seconds the telltale opening strings of “Come on Eileen” filled the room and the fight was being broken up in favor of dancing. Everyone jumped around, yelling whatever version of the lyrics they could and making fun of the actual English speakers when they admitted even they didn’t understand what was being said. This is how Taeyong came to learn that Johnny and Mark had each grown up in North America as the children of yakuza outpost members, and Jaehyun had gone to boarding school in Connecticut. 

The drinks, bouncing around, and singing were really starting to shake the memory of earlier in the day out of Taeyong’s brain and by the end of the night, he was barely worrying about Mina’s warnings.

*** 

Everyone had gone home except for Johnny, Jaehyun, Taeyong, and Yuta. The former two were in the alley having a smoke and getting some air, so this left Taeyong and Yuta alone inside. 

Yuta let out a big breath and spun around in the middle of the room. His hair and clothing were stiff with dried sweat and he had some bruises on his arms and his left cheek. 

“What a day!” 

“You alright?” asked Taeyong, parking himself in a nearby chair and eyeing his boss’s mild injuries. 

“Aish,” Yuta jested, flexing his arms as if he were really in pain. Then, he broke out into a grin and laughed, waving Taeyong off. “Nah, I’m alright. Would’a had him if Johnny hadn’t intervened.” 

Taeyong giggled. “Sure.” 

“Oi!” Yuta started laughing harder. “I’ll have you punished for insubordination!” 

_Sounds good_. “Sorry, _Shategashira_. You’re right; you are the manliest.” 

Yuta hopped into a walk towards the jukebox. “We should dance!” 

_How was he not completely out of energy??_ After a moment, “Overkill” by Men at Work started to play. 

“I love this song,” Yuta remarked as if he hadn’t chosen it. “Come on, dance! That’s an order.” 

Taeyong got up sluggishly and started to move in rhythm with Yuta from across the room. Yuta kept pulling silly faces and making Taeyong laugh in his way where the sounds seemed to keep getting caught in his throat on their way out. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” Yuta asked. 

“It was nice,” said Taeyong. “I felt like part of the group.” 

“Good,” said Yuta, dancing closer and eventually getting right into Taeyong’s personal space, outstretching his hands next to Taeyong’s hips, palms up. Slowly, Taeyong placed his hands over Yuta’s, staring his dance partner in the eyes and knowing that _his_ must have appeared full of uncertainty. As if by a natural force, Taeyong’s fingers slipped into the slots between Yuta’s and they swayed like that silently for a few seconds. It was a good feeling, and Taeyong let his eyes close just long enough to enjoy it. 

“Yu – _Shategashira_ ,”

“Mm?”

“What are you doing?” 

Yuta looked back into Taeyong’s eyes and then flickered his gaze away, a breathy smile tracing over his lips. 

“I’m thanking you for saving my life,” he said, plainly. 

“You already did that,” Taeyong all but whispered. 

“Not in the way I wanted to,” Yuta mumbled. “Not in the way you deserve.” 

Yuta pulled a centimeter closer and Taeyong felt like his skin was an electric grid. He let out an involuntary gasp as Yuta sighed close to his ear. 

“Tell me, Taeyong,” he continued, voice thick with liquor, “do you think I’m a monster?” 

“Think you’re a monster? No! No, _Shategashira_ , don’t be ridiculous. I don’t think that. I was just – scared. I know I said I wasn’t earlier today but that was before…I don’t think you’re a monster. Anyone with your position would have done the same thing – would have been expected to, even.” 

“You’re a very kind person, Taeyong,” Yuta observed. “I hope you know that.” 

“Thank you…” Taeyong smiled to himself at the compliment. 

Yuta pulled back an inch and flashed his gaze over Taeyong’s face. “Would it be too much for me to kiss you?” he asked. 

Taeyong felt like all his organs were shutting down at once. How was this happening? Hadn’t Yuta said no? Hadn’t that ultimately been the right decision for both of their safety? Taeyong froze, only able to watch Yuta’s beautiful face and babble god knows what – he didn’t know. Finally, he managed to spit out, “but I thought you didn’t want me.” 

Yuta looked genuinely hurt. “I never said that, Taeyong,” he clarified. “And what I did say was a mistake. I’m trying to make up for that.” 

Taeyong nodded. “Okay.” 

“Okay I can kiss you?” 

“Mm-hm.” 

And that was all it took. Yuta pressed his soft lips to Taeyong’s and they stayed there like that as any awareness of the outside world grew fuzzy. It was gentle enough that Taeyong didn’t know if it was perfect or if he wanted more. Fortunately or unfortunately, he didn’t have to decide right then, because just as he was beginning to melt fully into the kiss, he heard Johnny and Jaehyun chatting as they walked back inside. Yuta pulled away quickly, but even if neither man had seen anything, the position Taeyong was in with him was incriminating enough. Taeyong’s face flushed so hard it almost turned violet as Johnny and Jaehyun snickered. Yuta, thankfully, was relatively cool enough to handle the situation. 

“You two go on ahead. Taeyong and I will stay and lock up,” he offered. 

“Alright, _Shategashira_ ,” said Johnny slyly. “You do that.” 

As the last two stragglers got ready to leave, Taeyong felt himself begin to panic. He was pretty sure all of Yuta’s friends knew about his sexuality, but he couldn’t remember if he had ever confirmed that fact or if he’d just inferred it. Finally, he was alone again with Yuta. 

“Sorry about that,” said Yuta. 

“I told you to stop apologizing to me,” Taeyong mumbled. 

“Right.” Yuta sat next to Taeyong on a chair and pretended to zip his mouth shut. Taeyong laughed.

“They…know, right?” asked Taeyong and Yuta’s eyes went as round as coins. 

“Oh, my god, yes! They do! Don’t worry about them. They’re obnoxious for other reasons.” 

Taeyong finally let himself relax into his seat. “Good,” he breathed. 

“Taeyong,” said Yuta, his voice taking on a darkness it didn’t have before and Taeyong looked at him expectantly. “Come here.” 

Taeyong stood and traversed the couple of feet between them. Yuta patted his lap and Taeyong thought he was going to faint. He didn’t. Instead, he straddled Yuta hesitantly and let the man below him look him up and down, gaze sharp. 

“Is this good?” he asked. 

Yuta skimmed his hands lightly over the seams in Taeyong’s jeans. “Yeah it’s good,” he said. “You’re so good.” 

Taeyong closed his eyes at that and let out a choked sound. 

“Ah,” remarked Yuta, using his right hand to ruffle Taeyong’s hair and then brush over his cheek. “Yonggie likes praise, then?”

“Mm, mm-hm,” Taeyong confirmed, leaning into the soothing movements. 

“Can I touch you?”

Taeyong nodded. “Yes please.” 

This time, Yuta let his palms run flat over Taeyong’s thighs and up to his hips, causing Taeyong to wriggle in his lap. Yuta pulled Taeyong forward into another kiss, deeper and more insistent this time. It felt sloppy and wet and Taeyong absolutely loved it; couldn’t help himself from grinding his hips just a little bit, although when Yuta noticed this, he tried to hold him in place. 

When Yuta pulled away, Taeyong let his face hover nearby, pink and panting. Yuta’s lips were glossy and somewhat swollen, and he was looking at Taeyong like he was about to disappear and needed to be studied thoroughly so he could be remembered. Yuta’s hands roamed over Taeyong’s back, slipping under his shirt.

“ _Shategashira_ ,” Taeyong said in surprise before he had adjusted to the temperature of Yuta’s skin. Yuta burst out in whooping laughter, throwing his head back in a way that made Taeyong both nervous and aroused. _God_ , Taeyong thought, hands going to his mouth out of nervous habit, _Yuta was going to devastate him._

When Yuta came back up for air, he stared at Taeyong in mock incredulity. “Oh, stop playing with your lips,” he said. “You’re always doing that and it drives me crazy.” 

Taeyong ripped his hand away, embarrassed. “What was so funny?” 

“If we’re going to do this, you need to drop the title, Taeyong. Just call me by my name,” Yuta explained, holding Taeyong’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger as if chiding a child. Taeyong loved it. All of it. He smirked. 

“What if I like it?” he challenged.

Now it was Yuta smirking. “Oh? Taeyong likes titles, hm?” he leaned forward to start kissing up Taeyong’s neck and Taeyong mewled. “You like feeling like I’m in charge, even now,” he teased between kisses, “hm, sweetheart?” 

That was all Taeyong could take. He started grinding again and this time, Yuta didn’t stop him.

“Yes, _Shategashira_. I like it so much.” Yuta sucked a love bite into the skin over Taeyong’s collarbone and Taeyong hissed. 

“Pretty,” Yuta admired absently when he pulled away. Taeyong was so lost in feeling that it took him until this moment to notice the pressure that had started to build against his thigh. He looked down at where Yuta was straining against his black jeans. If he was being honest, he was getting a little uncomfortable himself. 

“Yuta,” he breathed, forgetting all about power play for a second. Yuta chuckled. 

“I know,” he said, “I didn’t really mean for that to happen but here we are.” 

Taeyong raised his eyebrows cutely. “Would you like me to help you with that, _Shategashira_?” He was ready to drop to his knees at a moment’s notice, so he felt a little disappointed when Yuta waved him off. 

“No, no. Let me handle it. I have an idea.” 

Taeyong watched silently as Yuta pulled himself out of his pants and started to stroke himself, looking directly at Taeyong. Taeyong’s eyes went wide and he licked his lips. Yuta’s wasn’t the biggest cock Taeyong had ever seen, but it wasn’t small either and what it lacked in length it made up for in girth. 

“Fuck, Taeyong, unzip your pants.” 

Taeyong made quick work of his fly and let Yuta reach out and pull down the front of his boxers. Yuta pumped Taeyong a couple of times, making Taeyong gasp when his thumb traced over the head of his cock, then instructed him to move up a little on his lap. Taeyong watched as Yuta spit on his palm and wrapped his hand around both of them, letting out a gut-punched moan at the contact. 

“Shit, _Shategashira_ , ahh.” 

Taeyong tried to let go and focus on the slide of Yuta’s hand on one side and his cock on the other, but he couldn’t help thinking how lewd this was: him perched on Yuta’s lap, face mottled with red splotches, starting to leak onto Yuta’s hand and the clothing that they were both still wearing. 

Yuta moaned and Taeyong felt himself twitch, hips jerking into the partial ring of Yuta’s grip. Pleasure radiated from where Yuta was touching him all the way up to his head, stopping to pool hotly at the base of his stomach. 

“You asked if I thought about you,” Yuta murmured, speeding up his rhythm. “I should have told you the truth, which is that I did. All the time. Sometimes at night I’d imagine you on my lap like this, or in my bed.” 

Taeyong made a choked noise and Yuta leaned forward to pepper kisses over his cheeks. “But you’re so much better in real life.” Yuta made a sound in Taeyong’s ear somewhere between a moan and a sigh and laughed darkly. “Did you think about me, sweetheart?” 

“Yes, yes, _Shategashira_ , I did. I tried not to, but I didmmmmmmm…” Taeyong cut himself off with a groan when Yuta pushed his thumb over Taeyong’s slit. The sensations were starting to overwhelm him. 

“Yuta?” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

Taeyong shivered, his hips beginning to twitch in fits and starts.

“I’m gonna come.” 

“Whenever you need to, Yonggie.” Yuta tried to speed up his strokes one more time. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Taeyong held onto Yuta’s shoulders and Yuta kissed him again as he spasmed through his release, the sounds he made getting muffled by Yuta’s mouth. When he pulled away, Yuta was grinning and still stroking him through his aftershocks, the movements slicked now by a new layer of Taeyong’s come. The sight made whatever was left of Taeyong’s brain go numb. 

All of a sudden, Taeyong was so sensitive that he felt like needles were pricking at his skin. 

“Ah, ah, okay, stop, _Shategashira_ , please,” he pleaded, squirming. 

Yuta allowed Taeyong to pull himself away and closed his eyes, focused on achieving his own release. Taeyong took advantage of the moment to kneel on the floor between Yuta’s thighs, and when Yuta reopened his eyes, he was the one twitching. 

“Oh, my god Taeyong,” he growled. 

“It’s okay, I like this. Please, _Shategashira_ , I want your come.” 

Taeyong opened his mouth and stared up at Yuta. Within seconds, his pose had the desired effect: Yuta was groaning and coming over Taeyong’s mouth. Taeyong licked his lips as Yuta watched, spasming and rubbing himself slowly; his heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. Taeyong shimmied a little closer and lapped innocently at the head of Yuta’s cock, and Yuta threw his hands over his face.

“Ooooh, my god, Yong…”

Taeyong kept at it until Yuta started to squirm, reveling in the idea that he had made the cool, collected badass that was Nakamoto Yuta come undone like this. 

“Alright, alright,” Yuta said, guiding Taeyong back to his lap with a hand on his scalp. Once there, Yuta stuck his dick back in his underwear haphazardly and brushed his fingers through Taeyong’s hair. 

“Did you like it, _Shategashira_?” asked Taeyong, eyes blown out. 

“Like it? I thought you were going to kill me there for a second. You were so good, getting on your knees for me.” 

Taeyong giggled. 

“Did _you_ like it, Taeyong?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I liked it a lot. Thank you.”

Yuta chuckled, pulling Taeyong in for one more kiss. He sighed after. 

“Okay, I know Johnny has clean towels in here somewhere. Don't go anywhere; I’ll be right back, okay?” 

“Okay.” Yuta pecked Taeyong on the nose for good measure before he stood, and when Taeyong got up to let Yuta off the chair he almost fell over, barely managing to steady himself. 

Yuta returned with a clean one of Johnny’s bar rags that he’d run under some water and cleaned them both off.

“Okay,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s better.” He considered the rag. “I’m going to need to bring this home with me to wash.” 

Taeyong blushed and Yuta pulled him into his side, looking around. “Not a very romantic setting, is it?” 

“No,” agreed Taeyong. 

“Next time we’ll go somewhere better and I’ll make love to you properly,” said Yuta, casually. 

_Next time._

Yuta continued, “we should probably lock up like I said we would and get out of here, hm?” 

“Yeah.” 

Yuta kissed Taeyong’s cheek and practically charged towards the front door, throwing Taeyong a small key. “I’m getting the front, so you get the back, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Taeyong felt like he was high for the rest of the night and could barely get himself to sleep despite the knowledge that tomorrow would be a busy day. He couldn’t believe what had happened. He wished he could visit the version of himself that existed only days earlier and share the good news. Maybe, he thought, this whole insane situation he’d found himself in would work out for the best after all. 


	6. Week III pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Japanese (new words this chapter only!):  
> Yoshi - like "good" or "alright"  
> SDF - not Japanese but ya know. Stands for Self Defense Force. Japan's "military"  
> Oni - a devil/ogre figure in Japanese folklore

If he didn’t think too hard, Yuta was elated. He’d righted his wrong, put his desires on the line, and gotten the boy he’d been lusting over for two and a half weeks not just to reciprocate, but to come undone in his lap. As he would say, mission accomplished. 

Still, if he did think about it, he was worried. As he’d expected, he and Taeyong being an item was distracting to him at work. All those little moments when Taeyong caught Yuta’s eye and Yuta would suppress his impulses before they had confessed started blossoming into full-on flirting – or worse, makeout sessions in the car or in closets at headquarters. When Yuta was alone, instead of strategizing for his mission, he would find himself strategizing how to keep everything adequately under wraps for him not to become a liability to the organization or to his men. He even sometimes worried that he was taking advantage of Taeyong.

This was all in the three days following the party at Johnny’s bar. By the fourth day and the end of the week, Yuta resolved to go easy on himself. Taeyong had given every indication of enthusiastic consent, and continued to give it, and Yuta figured once he got used to being with Taeyong, the butterflies would dissipate, and he’d be able to focus again. 

Yuta sat at his desk, legs crossed on the buffed wood, throwing his pen up and practicing catching it while pushing himself side to side in his swivel chair. Taeyong was in a seat near the window, messing with his nails and making absent-minded ‘beep’ ‘boop’ noises to occupy the time. 

Yuta sighed. They were at a weird midpoint in their work where they had enough information to have a plan but not to act on it. Most of the acting would happen in the week and a half leading up to the Mitsubishi meeting. On top of that, he and Taeyong couldn’t get up to anything because they were expecting a report from Johnny soon. 

“What if she doesn’t bite?” asked Taeyong, ceasing his strange little symphony. 

“Hm?” asked Yuta, not sure what he was referring to. 

“Sana. What if she doesn’t decide to flip when we confront her? What if she stays with Yamaguchi and they still get into the meeting?” 

“That’s not anything you need to worry about, Taeyong,” Yuta tried to explain, setting his pen on the desk with a clack. 

“But, I mean, I’m involved now,” Taeyong insisted. “So, wouldn’t it be good for me to have an idea?” 

Yuta smiled, acknowledging the merit in Taeyong’s point. “Okay. Basically, if she doesn’t side with us, we’re screwed. We’ll just have to send a large delegation to the meeting and hope we can offer enough perks to get the board of directors to agree to our demands over Yamaguchi’s, and convince them that Yamaguchi’s scheme with Miyazaki’s mistress is real.” 

Taeyong rolled his ankles around, looking preoccupied. 

“This is why I didn’t want to say anything, Yong. I didn’t want you more stressed out than you already are.” 

Taeyong leaned forward, elbows on his knees and jaw in his hands. “No, it’s alright. I think it’s better for me to know.”

Yuta smiled, appreciative. “That’s why we’re going to make Sana flip. We can’t afford not to, and she already hates the Yamaguchi-gumi for screwing up her life, so even if she thinks we’re just as despicable, at least we haven’t proven it yet.” 

Taeyong cringed. “That’s one way to look at it.” 

Yuta checked his watch after a brief silence. It was 4:40 p.m.; Johnny was supposed to have been there ten minutes ago. “Where the hell is he?” Yuta grumbled. 

“Johnny?” asked Taeyong.

“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you that?”

Taeyong shrugged. “Maybe.” 

Yuta thought he saw concern flicker over Taeyong’s face and reasoned there might be a cause for Taeyong’s spaciness that he wasn’t picking up. 

“Taeyong?” 

“Yes _Shategashira_!” 

“Come over here for a minute, will you?”

Taeyong hopped to his feet and walked over to the desk, leaning against Yuta’s side of it. Yuta remarked to himself that the etiquette he had always insisted on regarding his desk was quickly going out the window.

“What is it?” asked Taeyong. Yuta slipped his hand into the other man’s, squeezing and swinging their arms in a soft rhythm. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked Taeyong. “People still treating you well? Are you getting enough rest? I’m not overwhelming you, am I?” 

Taeyong laughed. “Not at all. You’re – everything’s really good, and I like all the attention you give me.” 

Yuta felt a flash of fondness overcome him. Lord help him. 

“I’m glad.” 

“There is one thing I’ve been wondering about though,” said Taeyong, starting again at the nails on his free hand. 

“What’s that?” 

“I was just thinking,” Taeyong began, “what is Momo going to do? Like, I presume that she knows about you but, how does that work for her? Is she going to hate me? Is it going to be weird if I have to talk to her any time soon?” 

Yuta looked at Taeyong, head cocked to the side like a question. “Why would it be, if you know she knows?” 

“That’s just it – I’m not sure!” Taeyong blurted. “I just feel like it would be. Like, it’s kind of a big sacrifice for her, isn’t it? And here I am, getting to do what she would if – if you were like, wired different or something.” 

Yuta dug a nail into Taeyong’s palm, getting his attention. “Yonggie, none of that is going to happen, alright? I wanted her to tell you but since you’re worried and bringing it up, you should know that she’s _similarly wired_.” Yuta emphasized the last part to mock Taeyong for his awkward use of euphemism. Taeyong looked confused for a moment, and Yuta watched in amusement as he worked through what he had just learned. 

“Oooh…” Taeyong puzzled. “Oh! Well, that’s a coincidence.”

Yuta laughed. “It’s not a coincidence, Taeyong, it’s the reason for our arranged marriage.” 

Taeyong pushed off the desk and started to pace. “This makes so much sense, now!” he said, making Yuta laugh harder. “Ooookay.” 

“So, will you calm down?” Yuta asked, and Taeyong nodded, settling back in his chair. 

“By the way,” Yuta offered, “how would you feel about going out this weekend?” 

“Out?” Taeyong pondered, “like, clubbing?” 

“Yeah,” Yuta said, hopeful. 

Taeyong smiled, practically buzzing in anticipation. “Sounds fun!” he said. 

“You can come over to my apartment after, if you want.” 

Taeyong wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Yuta guffawed. “Oh dear,” he said, shaking his head. 

“This a good time?” came Johnny’s muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Yuta pushed himself into a more decorous sitting position. “ _Douzo_.”

Johnny slid open the door and stood in the entryway, saluting and wearing a beige suit and orange shirt with wide lapels. To Yuta’s surprise, Mark was with him. 

“Phew,” jested Johnny, “I was worried you guys would be going at each other.” 

Yuta rolled his eyes “Want to get hit?” he asked, figuring that would shut his friend up. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Taeyong blush. 

“No, sorry, _Shategashira_ ,” said Johnny, sitting in the chair across from the desk and holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m done.” 

Yuta smirked, allowing himself some slight irritation but knowing this was all in good fun. He addressed Johnny.

“Why is Mark here?” 

Mark, who was still standing, awkwardly not knowing what to do with himself, opened his mouth but was cut off before he could answer. 

“He was getting bored and Haechan was there to fill in for him,” Johnny explained, as if that was supposed to be satisfying. Yuta shook his head incredulously, frustrated by what his men’s lack of discipline represented more than its actual consequences. In reality, it didn’t matter all that much if it were Mark or Donghyuck at that post – Donghyuck would have likely just been hanging out in construction projects, otherwise. 

“What was Hyuck doing there?” asked Yuta, simultaneously reasoning himself out of being strict. “Oh, whatever,” he allowed before anyone could answer. “It’s fine; just try to stay at your posts.” He turned his attention to Mark. “Alright?” 

“Yes, _Shategashira_!” 

“May I proceed with the report?” Johnny asked, both eyebrows raised and hand poised at the entrance to his jacket pocket. Yuta nodded and Johnny pulled out a cigarette and lighter, getting himself a smoke before he continued. 

“So,” said Johnny, “I just got off the phone with Kun. He’s going to be arriving with the Triad delegation this weekend so that they can have plenty of time to strategize, prepare, make sure our priorities align, etc.” 

“Perfect,” Yuta remarked. “Do they need an escort for when they get in?” 

“Kun said that would be appreciated,” replied Johnny. “However, if one is unavailable, his men are trained to defend themselves.” 

Yuta rapped his fingers against his desk. “I’ll contact him and tell him that I’ll do it. I want to make sure they know they’re valued. Anything else on that?”

“No, _Shategashira_.” 

“Alright. What did you find out about Sato?” 

“He’s a simple case; got a gambling addiction,” Johnny explained. 

“Sounds like your kind of guy,” said Yuta. Johnny laughed. Taeyong yawned in the corner, rolling his wrists around to get rid of the stiffness he was surely feeling. Yuta’s throat tightened up out of affection. He couldn’t wait for the weekend. 

“What time is it now?” 

Johnny checked his watch. “4:52, _Shategashira_ ,” he reported. 

“I guess now’s as good a time as any to head out,” Yuta figured. “Goro hasn’t sent in anything else that needs to get done, anyhow.” 

Johnny stood, still holding his cigarette and pulling a pair of keys from his jacket pocket. “Can I offer you guys a ride?” he asked. “I think we all live in the same direction.” 

Johnny’s car was an orange 1980 Honda Prelude with five seats that he kept parked in the underground lot below headquarters. Yuta leaned around to check on the two men sitting in back and almost broke into laughter. Johnny’s tiny car had five seats only in theory; Taeyong and Mark’s knees were nearly colliding in front of the center seat. 

Johnny lowered – or more accurately, dropped – himself into the car, hand steadied on the steering wheel since it was also a bit short for his 6’1” frame to enter comfortably. He pulled out the vehicle’s plastic ashtray and stamped out the end of his cigarette. 

“ _Yoshi_ , are we ready to go?” he asked, revving the engine.

Everyone responded affirmatively and all at once, and Yuta found himself wondering, had his been the type of family to go on road trips for vacation, would it have felt a little something like this? 

“Now, Taeyong, you’re going to need to give me a little guidance here,” said Johnny, pulling onto the street. “I don’t know your address.” 

“Okay!” came Taeyong’s voice from the back. He was seated diagonally from Yuta, and Yuta thought he could feel his gaze almost devouring him, but he decided to feign ignorance and not return the look. He wanted Taeyong frustrated for this weekend. 

Taeyong gave up and averted his eyes out the window, breath fogging the glass’s interior as its exterior beaded with a slow-moving kaleidoscope of raindrops. 

“Johnny,” began Mark.

“Mm?” 

“Did Kun say who’d be coming with him?” 

Johnny’s brow furrowed as he ticked up the speed of the windshield wiper. “I have it written down, but I can try to remember off the top of my head for now. Let’s see. I think Yukhei, Ten, Dejun, Sicheng, Kunhang, and Yangyang are supposed to be his entourage. That could change though – or he could bring more. I just know he’ll be there, and Yuta’s supposed to meet him at Narita this Saturday.”

“Wow,” said Mark as Yuta thought he felt knees bumping around against the back of his seat as if he were in front of a child on an airplane. “I haven’t seen those guys in forever; since I was a kid, practically!” 

“You’re still a kid,” Johnny deadpanned. 

Yuta watched Mark roll his eyes in the rearview mirror. “At least I’m not a _shatei_ anymore.” 

The sun began to dim as they rolled through the streets of Aoyama, casting the neighborhood in a shimmery palette of greys and yellows. Wet cement, soaked tree trunks, café windows, umbrellas: grey. Ginko leaves plastering the sidewalks, neon signs, reflected headlights, and traffic signs: yellow. Johnny clicked on the radio which was playing “midnight cruisin’” by Kingo Hamada. 

“So,” Taeyong began, “these Triad guys, they’re basically us but in China?” 

“I suppose so,” said Yuta. “They run a similar business to us out of Hong Kong since the mainland Triads got pushed there twenty years ago. They have even better international connections than us, though. We’ve been trading between each other forever, but we’ve always run the risk of getting our ships searched and taken in by the authorities. That’s why they want in on the Mitsubishi deal. Both the Chinese Navy and the Maritime SDF have been upping patrols in the South China Sea and that means inconvenience for us unless we can piggyback on legitimate business.” 

Taeyong looked nervous, his knees pulled together and his thumb nail wedged between his teeth. “I see,” he said. Yuta knew that he and Taeyong were well past the stage of pity, but he still couldn’t help the pangs of responsibility he felt every time Taeyong seemed to remember what exactly he’d gotten himself into. Moments like this made Yuta feel like he was going cold from the inside. Here they were, sitting three feet away in a car with two other people, not even having properly fucked yet and Yuta was already worried about losing what they had. Once Taeyong completed his mission he would have the choice to go back to his old life, and even Yuta acknowledged it would probably be in Taeyong’s best interest to do so, but what if leaving Inagawa also meant leaving Yuta? He had too much firsthand experience with that exact scenario to feel secure. 

They dropped Mark off at his apartment, then Taeyong directed Johnny the rest of the way to his. Once there, Taeyong slipped out of the idling car into the rain, immediately getting soaked due to his lack of rain gear. His dark hair flattened, luminous, against his forehead and the black button-up under his oversized denim jacket clung in a way Yuta would not be able to forget any time soon. 

Before Taeyong could scurry too far away, Yuta grabbed the crank on the interior of his car door and rolled down his window, ignoring Johnny’s grumbling that he was going to ruin the upholstery.

“Taeyong,” he called through the screen of raindrops. Taeyong turned immediately, a warmth in his face which thawed the chill Yuta had sensed before. 

“Yes, _Shategashira_?” 

Yuta smiled. “C’mere,” he instructed, and Taeyong jogged his way back to the car until he was folded at nearly a 90-degree angle to lean into Yuta’s window. Yuta could see the soft expanse of Taeyong’s torso clearly down his collar. _Fuck_. He placed a finger under Taeyong’s chin and looked into his eyes, which had gone as glassy and round as the puddles in the uneven sidewalk in front of Taeyong’s building. 

“Remember what I said about this weekend?” 

Taeyong bit his lip and nodded, searching Yuta’s face. 

“How about tomorrow night?” suggested Yuta. 

“Okay!” 

Johnny sighed, looking pointedly out the opposite window. “Let’s hurry this up, lover boys,” he quipped. 

“Ignore him,” Yuta told Taeyong when he noticed the other man’s eyes straying in embarrassment. “You’ll be on patrol tomorrow without me, so I’ll swing by around eleven at night to take you somewhere fun, m’kay? Just be ready by then.” 

“M’kay.” 

Yuta pulled Taeyong closer for a chaste kiss, then mercifully let him go to escape the rain. 

“Now, go get yourself into something warm and dry!” he yelled, smiling as Taeyong practically bounded towards the door of his apartment. 

“Aye aye, _Shategashira_ ,” Taeyong responded.

Johnny turned back to face Yuta in mock frustration. “Will you close the window now?” he asked, and Yuta couldn’t help smiling while cranking it back up.

“You guys are cute,” said Johnny, as if commenting on the heavy rain. He didn’t seem to have any intention of starting the car. 

“I’m glad you think so,” Yuta responded, cautious. 

“Where are you taking him this weekend?”

“Out,” said Yuta. “In Yokohama. A place where no one knows who I am.” 

Johnny nodded. “I don’t doubt that you’re being careful,” he said. “I’m just concerned for him.” 

“For Taeyong?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny expanded. “He’s so new at this; does he know what officially joining would even look like? Someone needs to have that conversation with him.” 

“ _I’m_ going to have that conversation with him,” Yuta practically hissed. This was not the discussion he wanted to be having.

Johnny sighed, shifting into drive, “Okay,” he said. “I trust you, _Shategashira_.”

“Good,” said Yuta. “You shouldn’t have to assure me of that.” 

*** 

Yuta looked at himself in his full-length mirror, doing a little spin and checking over his shoulder to get as full a view as possible. He’d sent Taeyong to go on patrol with Donghyuck and Mark for the day while he stayed at headquarters talking to Doyoung about finances. 

He’d gotten home, cooked himself some packaged curry, and shut himself in the bathroom on a whim with a tub of black Manic Panic. Yuta was growing sick of the white hair, and even though he was confident that no one at Copycat knew him or would be a threat, he still felt more comfortable with a less eye-catching hairdo. It had seemed like a good idea, especially since Yuta’s nerves were still a bit on edge after the assassination attempt. It had seemed like a good idea, that is, until the chemical fumes in his bathroom were almost enough to make him pass out and he had to scrub the dregs of the dye out of his bathtub once he was done. 

But that was a few hours ago and now, with his hair newly monochrome and slicked back, and the bathroom aired out, Yuta was feeling much better. He had a cassette of R.E.M.’s “Murmur” blasting from the Hitachi TRK-7020H he kept next to his bed, dancing around to the music and sipping from a tumbler of whiskey as he got ready. He wanted to take his time picking a good outfit, knowing this would be one of his last opportunities for real fun before the Mitsubishi deal. Eventually, he settled on a black leather blazer, black pants, white leather boots, a black and blue button-up, and a chain necklace. 

He turned back around to face himself in the mirror, sneaking a sip from his glass and examining the layers of bandage wrap he’d wound around what parts of his chest and lower neck were exposed. 

His watch said it was 10:30. Time to go. 

***

Yuta got to the front door of Taeyong’s building at 11:07. He buzzed the dial for “Unit 127, Lee,” and after an electronic screech that made Yuta’s eyebrows raise, startled, his date’s voice came through the speaker. Even through the crackle, he sounded bright, like he was bouncing around on the other end. 

“Yuta! I just saw you pull up!” Taeyong giggled. “Be down in a minute.”

Yuta smiled to himself when Taeyong hung up. In stark contrast to yesterday’s downpour, this was a mild, early November night with a full moon and a soft breeze shuffling the bushes outside the apartment and making Yuta’s skin tingle. As he waited, Yuta pondered the tile exterior of Taeyong’s building and how desperately it needed washing. Then, he looked up to the sky where wispy clouds were curling in the moon’s glow like steam over a cup of coffee. He wondered to himself what that sky would look like out in the countryside, where there was no light pollution and the entire Milky Way would have undoubtedly unfurled overhead for the mortal onlooker. He wondered what that moon looked like to his family in Osaka. 

The front door opened, pulling Yuta out of his ponderings. Taeyong smiled and Yuta momentarily forgot to breathe. His hair had been coaxed lightly off his forehead with some hair gel, and he wore a translucent lavender turtleneck, an oversized houndstooth jacket, black jeans, and sneakers. Yuta couldn’t have designed a more fantasy-worthy man himself, and Taeyong seemed to notice the reaction he’d caused, because he grinned wickedly. 

“Hi,” he said. 

“My god,” said Yuta, regaining his composure and returning the wicked look right back. “I didn’t think you could get any sexier.” 

Taeyong smirked, sticking his chin out so he was looking at Yuta from under hooded eyes. “I could say the same about you, _Shategashira_. Especially like the hair.” 

Yuta chuckled, moving in slowly to peck Taeyong on the lips. He wanted to do more, but even though the street was empty, he didn’t wish for any of Taeyong’s neighbors to see. Also, he reminded himself, there would be plenty of time for that later. Yuta watched as Taeyong’s eyes flitted quizzically over his collar. He lifted a slender finger to trace over the flesh-colored bandages underneath. 

“What’s up with these?” Taeyong asked.

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand in his and guided it back down between them. 

“They’re for covering my tattoos,” he explained, assuming that was obvious. 

“I know, but Yutaaa,” Taeyong whined, “your tattoos are so hot.” 

Yuta burst out laughing. “I’m so sorry, baby, but I don’t want to risk it. Can’t have anyone assuming I’m trouble.” Yuta narrowed his eyes, trying to look sinister like a yakuza in an anime or something. Taeyong didn’t seem to buy it. 

“Aren’t the bandages suspicious in and of themselves?” he queried. 

“Sure,” Yuta said, “but they’re not proof.” Yuta pulled a dramatically pitiful expression. “I could be recovering from a traumatic car accident.” 

Taeyong giggled. “Yeah,” he said, “recovering at the club.” 

“Listen,” Yuta insisted, “just think how much fun you’ll have peeling them off me tonight.” 

Taeyong bit his bottom lip in anticipation and Yuta let go of his hand. Yuta thought if he was going to survive waiting for Taeyong until they got to his bedroom, he’d need a lot more drinks at Copycat. Still, the nervous glint in Taeyong’s eyes told Yuta that having patience would make tonight so much more satisfying. 

***

Copycat was a notorious gay club in Yokohama. Those in the know would recognize it for outlandish parties, drag queens, mysterious drugs, and letting people in strictly based on their looks. It was a bit out of the way, being in a different city, but Yuta decided the loss of convenience was worth the safety. They listened to The Violent Femmes’ self-titled album on the forty-minute drive there, as it had recently become one of Yuta’s favorites for amping himself up. In the car it became clear that Taeyong had pre-gamed because he was much more forward than usual. He told Yuta he’d missed being with him all day and offered him road head. As much as Yuta would have liked that, he had to explain that he’d already had a drink too and couldn’t afford to get pulled over. 

The two of them made it past the line easily and slipped their way through the black box of a club. There were shards of mirrors stuck to the walls which reflected the multicolored lights that flitted about the space. Go left, and one would be face to face with a wall of caged dancers, go right for the bar. They went right. 

Yuta decided to order for the two of them. 

“Taeyong,” he half-yelled over the music. It was “Sex (I’m A…)” by Berlin. 

“Do you want beer, or do you want vodka?” 

Vodka was the obvious answer and pretty soon, they were downing a suite of shots one after the other. 

The DJ must have been really into Berlin, because the next song that blared through the speakers was “Pleasure Victim.” 

Yuta’s eyes bugged out when he heard it, and he hastily slapped several yen on the bar, pulling Taeyong to the dance floor. 

“I love this song!” 

“I can see that,” said Taeyong, tittering as he let Yuta drag him into the center of a mass of bodies, both of them being jostled in a way that would have been dangerous if they were just a little drunker. The synthesizer in the song complemented the dreamlike aspects of the dance floor (the lights; the glitter), and helped Yuta forget the baser aspects (the grime; the smell). 

Taeyong looked ethereal under the twisting colors and the silver confetti that started to fall, reflecting his gorgeous face ad infinitum. The thrum of the base in Yuta’s spine and ears made him feel like he was underwater, his movements so slow and heavy in comparison to the music. 

Yuta couldn’t help himself – he was enchanted. He pulled Taeyong so close that they were writhing against each other more than dancing, and planted a searing kiss to his mouth. Taeyong tasted harsh, like all the alcohol he’d been drinking. Yuta felt him pressing against his chest, trying to wriggle out of the kiss and when Yuta pulled back in concern, he was overwhelmed with fondness. Taeyong panted, offering a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry,” he explained. “I couldn’t breathe.” 

Yuta just laughed and pulled Taeyong close again, and the two opted to grind on each other rather than kiss for the time being. 

Yuta murmured into Taeyong’s ear. “Do you come to places like this often?” he asked. 

“Every now and then,” answered Taeyong. “When I wanna find someone to take me home.” 

Yuta hummed. Taeyong’s body against him was making him feel like oil floating in liquid. “Say we didn’t know each other,” he began as the music switched to Lime’s “Come and Get Your Love.” “If you saw me from across the dance floor, would you try to get me to take you home?” 

Yuta heard Taeyong laugh – felt the vibration of it in his neck. “I’d do everything I could to make that happen,” Taeyong answered, dropping kisses to the skin just above Yuta’s bandages. 

“I’d come over to dance with you, and you’d no doubt reciprocate, cuz you would’ve had your eyes on me all night. Am I right?”

“Of course you’re right,” Yuta confirmed, dragging his hands shamelessly over the back of Taeyong’s body. 

Taeyong trailed a smile over Yuta’s skin. “Then I’d make sure you couldn’t rest until you’d brought me back to yours and taken out all your frustrations on me.” 

Yuta growled as Taeyong pulled away. His face was flushed. It looked like the stains left on your hands after eating cherries. His eyes had gone glassy from intoxication and the edges of his mouth curled in an adorable smile. Yuta couldn’t believe his self-control that he’d managed to wait this long to fuck him. God…

Taeyong bit his lip as he swayed his hips to the music. “But we could…we could make that happen anyway,” he offered, going bashful for a split second before drawing a couple fingers over the skin under Yuta’s bottom button. “Right, _Shategashira_?” he whispered for good measure. 

Yuta grabbed Taeyong’s wrist. “You’re a menace, you know?” 

Taeyong cocked his head and spun around so his back was against Yuta’s chest. He kept his eyes on Yuta, batting his lashes innocently. 

“It’s just what you do to me,” he explained.

Yuta could only shake his head in disbelief as he wrapped his arms around his dance partner. 

***

The restroom at Copycat was cleaner than Yuta would have expected; at least as far as he could tell under the dark lighting. The almost surgical white tiles which lined most of the space were shockingly devoid of even marker graffiti. So was the red of the dividers between stalls and urinals. 

Yuta stared into the mirror as he washed his hands. The empty bathroom gave him a familiar liminal space feeling as Madonna’s “Lucky Star” echoed from the dance floor, dreamlike, and he had the impression that should he walk back out the door, he would find himself in a dark void rather than a physical, tangible environment. Maybe it was all the vodka, or simply the temporary damage suffered by his eardrums that made everything sound faraway. 

As Yuta shook his hands dry, a tall man in a shiny black suit with a buzzcut strolled in and made his way to the urinals. Yuta didn’t think anything of him, until he decided to strike up a conversation. Yuta watched the man’s back in the mirror. 

“Having a good time out there, boss?” asked the man’s back. 

_Boss?_

Yuta ignored the quarry, figuring it was just drunken banter, and he didn’t have the nerves for that. He started towards the door. 

“Hey, it’s an innocent question.” The man’s voice came now from just behind Yuta, insistent. Apparently this guy wasn’t planning on washing his hands. 

Yuta paused. “Fun!” he repeated, almost mockingly. “Yes, I’m having fun, thanks.” Yuta moved to leave but his interlocutor blocked the door. 

“That boy you got with you’s a real nice piece of ass, I gotta say. You got me jealous.”

Yuta glared, his wits forcing themselves about him as he hoped desperately that he hadn’t left Taeyong in a dangerous position. He needed to be getting back. 

“I’d prefer you didn’t refer to him like that,” Yuta said coolly, trying to defuse the situation. 

“Oh, you got feelings, I see,” said the guy in mock apology. “He your boyfriend?” 

Yuta reached into his jacket pocket and the man jumped, moving out of the way and opening the door for Yuta to walk past. Yuta pushed out a clipped breath, glad he hadn’t needed to resort to threats of violence. Still, how had the man anticipated what Yuta had been reaching for? It was probably the bandages giving him away. The man trailed after Yuta once in the hallway outside the restroom. 

“Alright, sorry, sorry. Listen, so you’re having fun with your boy toy out there. What if I told you I had something that could make it even more fun?” 

Yuta refused to look at the man. He almost never did drugs stronger than alcohol and nicotine. Having taken part in illegal drug smuggling and sales, he knew what kind of weird and dangerous ingredients people passed off as “the real stuff.” Not to mention his oath to Inagawa which forbade it. 

“No thank you,” he said plainly. 

This guy would not give up. 

“Oh, come on, you haven’t even heard the whole pitch. I’ve had nothing but stellar reviews and – and it boosts your sex drive like, it’s incredible! Don’t you wanna check it out? I just gotta go get it out of a back room; you two can follow me there!” 

_Alright_ , thought Yuta, _that’s enough_. He grabbed the guy by his collar and pushed him against the wall. Despite his impressive height, he was thin and Yuta gained confidence when he realized how little this man could actually do to challenge him. He didn’t have the reflexes of an experienced criminal. Still, he was likely an inexperienced one. 

“Go push your shit on someone else,” Yuta insisted, an implied threat of harm hanging in the air. When he was sure the bothersome man was sufficiently flustered, Yuta stormed away and plucked Taeyong from where he’d left him at the bar and where he had thankfully remained. Taeyong was about to down a Jell-O shot when Yuta arrived. 

“Thank god. Let’s go.” 

“Hm? What about this?” Taeyong asked, referring to the shot. 

Yuta shook his head. “I’ve had enough of this place,” Yuta asserted. “Let me take you home.” 

Taeyong didn’t argue with that logic, as Yuta knew he wouldn’t, and they weaved through the crowd and slipped out the back door into the cool air. Yuta hadn’t been aware of how sweaty and disgusting he’d become until he had the breeze there to remind him. He heard Taeyong let out a whooping noise at his side. 

Taeyong practically sprinted the couple blocks back to the car, still buzzing with booze and dancing, and Yuta had to work to keep up. Once in the vehicle, Yuta used the car phone to call a designated driver service. 

Yuta hung up. “They’ll be here in ten minutes,” he relayed. 

Taeyong arched an eyebrow. “Ten minutes, huh?” 

That’s all he could get out before Yuta was cutting him off with a kiss. 

***

The driver followed Yuta’s instructions to park around the corner from Yuta’s place. He lived in an adjoined but separate wing of the Inagawa-kai mansion in Ginza. The main structure of the building resembled a scaled down Samurai castle painted black. Yuta had lived there since he came to Tokyo when he was fifteen. At the time, he was placed in the mansion proper, where he struck up a quick friendship with _Oyabun_ Hirai’s daughter, but also felt constantly surveilled. Now, as an adult in his own sectioned off wing, he could come and go as he wished, with whomever he wished. Having lived there for ten years, Yuta sometimes didn’t notice the building’s slightly threatening grandeur. Yuta was reminded by Taeyong’s shocked expression when they turned the corner to see it. 

“You live here?” Taeyong gasped. 

“I forgot you’ve never needed to come to the mansion,” Yuta reasoned. He pointed to the much smaller and plainer structure tacked on to the side of the _Oyabun_ ’s residence. 

“I used to. Now I live there.” 

Taeyong’s eyes scanned the building before him in wonder. “Still…” 

Yuta laughed, grasping Taeyong’s hand. “Alright enough gawking. Let me show you inside.” 

Inside was equally stimulating to Taeyong apparently, who began spouting variations on “wahhhh!” the second Yuta had opened the unit’s purple door and let him in. 

Yuta’s apartment had three rooms not counting the bathroom; each with a distinctly different style which worked well alongside the others, nonetheless. The one into which the front door opened and in which they were standing was the kitchen/dining area. It was a galley kitchen with a wooden table and chairs and patterned wallpaper with fruits on it. To the right opened a traditional tatami room where Yuta kept his sofa and TV. 

Yuta laughed at Taeyong as he nearly bounced off the counter space, letting his fingers titter over spice containers, an ashtray, plastic flowers; whatever he could get his hands on. 

“I’m glad you find my apartment so entertaining,” Yuta quipped, a bit confused. 

Taeyong shrugged. “I really like this,” he explained. “Getting a little peak at my _Shategashira_ ’s personal space. It’s not what I expected.” 

_What_ had _he expected? Black paint and walls of_ katana _and guns?_ Yuta asked as much. 

Taeyong laughed breathily. “Not necessarily. I’m not sure. Maybe.” 

Yuta’s skin was getting itchy as he eyed the door to his bedroom on the far wall. 

“Okay,” he allowed. “Follow me.” 

Yuta and Taeyong made their way to the door and once on the other side of it, Yuta again observed Taeyong’s reaction. He drank in the space, black chambray wallpaper, red moldings, and silky purple sheets on the bed all being slowly processed. Yuta knew his taste sometimes delved into extremely tacky territory, but his bedroom décor made him feel like a badass and he hoped Taeyong would understand the vibe he was going for. 

“This is a little more what I was expecting,” admitted Taeyong, finally. 

Yuta smiled, catlike, and closed the door, caging Taeyong in against it. Taeyong’s breathing faltered for a moment as his eyes fluttered shut. Yuta drew in a deep breath, the smells of the club mixing on Taeyong’s skin with his cologne and the natural scent of his body. Yuta kissed at the hinge of Taeyong’s jaw as Taeyong shucked his jacket. 

“I’ve been hoping for this since we first met,” Yuta admitted, running his hands over Taeyong’s figure for the nth time that night. Taeyong preened under the touch, beginning to lose himself for the first time with the knowledge of what this was all leading up to. 

He sighed, a half-smile gracing his lips. 

“Please, do whatever you imagined, _Shategashira_ ,” he almost panted. “I want you to show me everything you’ve thought of doing to me.” 

Yuta smirked, planting a hard kiss on Taeyong’s lips. 

“That would take a while,” he said slyly when he let up, “but I’ll give you a taste. We’ll have opportunities to get to the rest later.” 

Yuta watched in satisfaction as Taeyong visibly shivered. He stepped away until the backs of his knees were brushing his bed.

“Can you take your shirt off for me, sweetheart?” 

Taeyong obliged immediately, dropping his shirt to the floor and standing against the door, laughing his way into a nervous smile and crossing and uncrossing his arms. Yuta bore his gaze into him, and Taeyong quieted his movements in response. 

“Good boy,” Yuta murmured, pleased when he heard Taeyong gulp down a groan in response. Yeah, he’d had a feeling…

He slipped off his jacket, instructing Taeyong’s to stay put as he folded it in half and set it on a chair in the corner. Taeyong took it like an order, with a “yes, _Shategashira_ ,” that was so cute it made Yuta’s stomach churn. He made his way back to the man he’d left by the door, wrapping his now half bare arms around him. He noticed that Taeyong was chewing his lip hard enough that it looked painful. 

“You okay?” he asked, petting his right hand over Taeyong’s hair. Taeyong released his lip, eyes fixed on Yuta’s face only millimeters from his.

“Yeah,” he breathed in confirmation. 

“Good.” Yuta walked backwards towards his bed again, guiding Taeyong forward with him and stopping only when he was sitting and Taeyong was climbing up to straddle him, neither breaking eye contact the entire time. Yuta placed his hands over Taeyong’s hips. 

“You seem a little nervous, baby,” he ventured. 

Taeyong smiled. _There we go._ “You make me nervous, _Shategashira_. But, in a good way.” 

Yuta smiled back. “I didn’t seem to make you nervous earlier,” he jested. 

“The alcohol is starting to wear off now,” explained Taeyong. 

Yuta sighed, dropping a quick kiss just above Taeyong’s belly button. “Tell you what: why don’t you tell me what you want right now, darling. Forget the things I’ve imagined. I want you to feel comfortable.” 

“M’sorry,” said Taeyong, eyes darting off to the side, and Yuta shook his head. 

“Don’t be. Just name it and I’ll give it to you.” 

Taeyong’s eyes returned to Yuta as he drew his lips into the softest smirk. 

“Well first of all,” he began, “I want to undress you and take off your bandages, like you promised me.” 

Yuta was more than happy to oblige. He let Taeyong surround him, crawling over the bed to different sides of him to get the angles he needed to unbutton his shirt and peel off the wrappings, slowly revealing Yuta’s tattooed skin. Taeyong hummed to himself as he worked, insisting Yuta relax and stay still, and placing soft kisses to each section of flesh as soon as it became accessible. Yuta felt like he was floating with Taeyong tittering about and mouthing at him. At the same time, it was teasing him into impatience. 

When Taeyong finished, he threw the bandages to the ground and placed his hands on Yuta’s shoulders to steady himself as he leaned forward, observing the ink figures that covered Yuta’s entire upper body; dragons, flames, and _Oni_ practically crawling out from the waist of his pants.

“Shit. That looks so painful.”

Taeyong yelped in surprise as Yuta grabbed his face and pulled him in for an upside-down kiss. When Yuta pulled away, he took advantage of Taeyong’s disorientation to turn around and chase him back on the bed into the pillows.

“It was,” he confirmed finally, giggling, and pretty soon he had Taeyong laughing too. 

Taeyong regained his composure and worried his lip between his teeth again for a moment before speaking. Yuta couldn’t help noticing the flush that had taken over Taeyong’s face, neck, and chest. 

“Yuta?”

“Mm?” 

“I want to feel you inside me,” Taeyong almost whispered. “And I want you to take over now.” 

Yuta felt his dick twitch at Taeyong’s words. He settled his expression and let out a deep breath. 

“Okay, baby,” he said. “Then I need you to take off your pants.” 

Taeyong obliged easily as Yuta stood and removed his own, then pulled a bottle of lube from the bedside table. 

Yuta looked quizzically at Taeyong’s sudden nakedness. He was so beautiful. 

“You weren’t wearing underwear?” he teased and Taeyong demurred. 

“No,” he admitted, and Yuta caught Taeyong’s eyes grazing over the less dense tattoos which continued over Yuta’s lower body. 

Yuta shuffled back onto the bed between Taeyong’s legs. 

“No wonder you were in such a mood earlier,” said Yuta, almost coldly. “You’re my naughty boy tonight, hm? Spread your legs.” 

Taeyong shuffled his legs wider, his hardening cock wobbling with arousal. 

“Mmmmmm mhm, I am,” Taeyong groaned as Yuta coated his fingers with the lube, smirking to himself. Taeyong sounded wrecked already from all the intimacy and the light dirty talk, and Yuta hadn’t even properly touched him yet. 

Yuta scooted in closer and circled Taeyong’s entrance with his pointer finger, eliciting a gasp from him. 

“You’re so sweet, it kills me,” Yuta murmured, and with that he looked Taeyong in the eyes and pressed his finger in. Taeyong keened, panting. 

A few minutes later, Yuta was stretching Taeyong with three fingers, admiring the man beneath him as he rocked himself lightly into Yuta’s thrusts with one bent leg as an anchor. He had his eyes shut forcefully and chewed on his thumb nail, clipped, muffled moans emanating from the base of his throat. 

Yuta’s cock was straining against his underwear and leaving a wet mark on the fabric. He was so turned on that he would almost have been satisfied just watching Taeyong ride his hand all night. Almost. 

“You take my fingers so well, baby,” he teased, brushing over Taeyong’s prostate and causing his eyes and mouth to drop open simultaneously in pleasure. “You think you’re ready for my cock?” 

Taeyong bucked his hips as he dropped his hand from his mouth. 

“Yes, yes, yes…” he repeated as if in a trance. “Please, _Shategashira_.”

He mewled as Yuta withdrew his fingers, clenching around air, and then again when Yuta removed his boxer briefs. Yuta was naked save the chain he’d been wearing all night, reveling in the image of it swinging while they fucked. 

Taeyong shimmied himself down into the bed until he was lying down, his arms bent and framing his head on the purple pillow. 

Yuta lined himself up and pushed slowly inside, groaning when he bottomed out. He watched Taeyong’s stomach flex as he got used to the stretch and steadied his shallow breathing. Yuta ground his hips experimentally and Taeyong whimpered. 

“Mmm, you feel so good around me, baby.” 

“You feel good too,” Taeyong reciprocated. “I – ah – you fill me up so well.” 

Taeyong reached his arms out in a fidgety motion and Yuta obliged him, leaned forward until Taeyong could wrap his arms fully around him. He took one of Taeyong’s nipples into his mouth, catching him by surprise as he began to thrust and bit down, making him whine. 

Yuta wondered where Taeyong had been all his life. Sure, it sounds cheesy, but it was true. Taeyong was so tight and warm, it made him crazy, and he let the most endearing string of curses and breathy moans fall past his lips as Yuta fucked into him with increasing insistence. 

Yuta pulled himself back upright so he could get a better view of the man under him, thumbing over the nipple that was still wet and inflamed from his mouth. Taeyong’s skin sparkled with sweat as he knit his brow and sent his fingers absentmindedly to his mouth. Yuta reached down and moved Taeyong’s hand, replacing it with his own, and the look Taeyong gave him when he reopened his eyes made Yuta feel a telltale clench in his gut. 

“Keep your eyes on me,” he instructed. 

“Yes Sha – Yes, _Shategashira_.” 

The slap of flesh on flesh grew louder, mixing with the metallic sound of Yuta’s chain and filling the space as Yuta thrust hard enough it would probably leave Taeyong with bruises. Taeyong drew in a breath and let it out as a broken sob. 

“I’m so close,” he warned over Yuta’s fingers. 

Yuta wrapped his hand around Taeyong’s cock, which was angry and straining at this point, pumping him in time with his thrusts to the best of his ability. The movements were slicked by the precome that Taeyong had been dribbling consistently over himself. 

“Ah, thank you, thank you, thank you…” Taeyong repeated as he bucked jerkily into Yuta’s touch, his hands wandering in spastic fits over his own heaving chest. 

“You’re going to come when I tell you to. Okay, darling?” Yuta sing-songed. 

Taeyong sobbed again as Yuta dragged his thumb over the head of his cock. “Yes, _Shategashira_.” 

Yuta shuddered, nearing his own climax. He thrust deep into Taeyong, abusing his prostate as he pressed his thumb into Taeyong’s slit. 

“Now, baby. Come for me.” 

Taeyong wailed as he came a moment later, streaking his stomach in pearly white and huffing from all the energy he’d expended. 

Yuta’s thrusts grew more erratic and his voice came out like gravel. “Fuck, baby,” he said, “you did it just when I told you to. My good boy. I wish you could have seen how incredible you looked.” 

Taeyong shook his head in embarrassment against the pillow and threw an arm over his face. He kept spasming now and again from aftershocks and from Yuta still fucking into him. 

“Thank you, _Shategashira_. I wanted to be good for you.” 

Yuta let out a gut-punched sound at that. “I’m gonna come now, sweetheart,” he informed. “Where do you want it?” 

Taeyong’s voice was barely there as he answered. “Inside. Please.” That alone was enough to push Yuta over the edge. 

He kept grinding his release into Taeyong once he’d come, bringing himself down and pulling a new string of whimpers from the man below. 

“Aah, that was so good, baby,” he said dreamily. “Let me see you.” 

Taeyong removed his arm from his face, and what Yuta saw sent a residual wave of pleasure all the way to his toes. Taeyong’s cheeks were red and shiny, not just from sweat but also from the small collection of tears that had welled up at the corners of his eyes and started to spill over. 

“Oh, baby,” Yuta cooed. “You look so pretty like this, it’s unreal.” 

Taeyong spasmed. “Please…” 

It was a bit unfair to Taeyong, who hadn’t been introduced to Yuta’s sadistic side in bed yet, but Yuta couldn’t stop himself from continuing to grind in and out of Taeyong’s entrance just a little longer than was obviously comfortable, egged on by the tears and by the little noises Taeyong kept making. When Taeyong started begging for real, he finally decided to give him a break and pulled out. 

By the end of the night, Yuta was completely whipped, for better or for worse. Sometime during their post-fuck cuddling, Taeyong had informed Yuta that he liked it when he told him what to do, liked being bitten, and that as much as it had made him sensitive and squirmy, he’d have been okay if Yuta had continued to overstimulate him. The conversation turned to other things they might like and soon enough, they were both recovered enough to get hard again. Using some of what he’d just learned about Taeyong to his benefit, Yuta sat the other man on his lap and jerked him off with one hand while wrapping the other around his neck. Taeyong came over Yuta’s fingers, licked them clean, and returned the favor with a blowjob. By the time they were done and somewhat cleaned up, both men collapsed in a heap in Yuta’s now slightly sticky bed. Yuta let Taeyong cuddle into his side, thinking to himself that he was going to need to figure out how to make this work. 

“How long did these take?” Taeyong asked, tracing a finger over the _Oni_ on Yuta’s sternum. 

“I got them over the course of five years, so it’s hard to say. Maybe, 100 hours?” 

Taeyong raised his head in shock and Yuta laughed. “No way.” Yuta nodded. “And it really hurt?” Taeyong asked, eyes wide. 

Yuta adjusted his head on the pillow, taking a drag of the cigarette he had perched between his fingers. 

“I mean, it’s not the worst thing ever, but it’s pretty unpleasant. They’re not normal tattoos, either.”

“How so?”

“You get them done with this sharpened piece of bamboo and no modern equipment. It’s the traditional way for us. Someone’s granny does them; I forget who she’s related to.” 

Taeyong finished tracing the _Oni_ and moved on to the flaming border next to it. “Do you think I could ever get one? Not like, the whole thing – just something small like what Donghyuck has.”   
  


“Maybe someday if you really wanted to,” Yuta guessed, watching smoke hang in the air above him as if the bed were a forest fire. “But you’d have to officially join first.” 

Yuta felt the familiar pang of nervousness he got every time he thought about Taeyong’s future with the Inagawa-kai and, by association, with him.   
  


“Mm,” Taeyong acknowledged. “Well then...” 

“Have you thought at all about it?” Yuta ventured, immediately wishing he hadn’t when he felt Taeyong tense. Still, he knew the question would have eaten at him either way. 

“A little bit, but I haven’t come to a decision,” Taeyong explained. Yuta took another drag and offered his cigarette to Taeyong, who took it, to Yuta’s surprise. Taeyong tried smoking it and started coughing on the exhale, scrunched his face up in distaste. 

“I don’t know why I try it every time someone offers me one. I never like it,” he said. 

“Sorry,” said Yuta with a laugh. “Anyway, mind giving me some insight into your thought process?” 

Taeyong settled back into Yuta’s side. Yuta could feel vibrations in his ribs as Taeyong spoke. 

“Well, as I imagine you understand, officially entering a life of crime or whatever is pretty intimidating even if you’ve never operated in the mainstream. It’s a big commitment. At the same time, I don’t really have anything waiting for me on the other side.” Taeyong flushed. “Besides, I’m really enjoying being with you.”

Yuta blew another puff of smoke as some bittersweet feeling kicked around in his stomach. 

“Don’t let me be too much of an influence on your decision,” he advised. “We can be together anyway. I mean yakuza don’t usually date other syndicate members anyway for…obvious reasons.” 

“Yeah,” Taeyong mumbled. “That’s true. But I promise, no matter what I decide, you’ll be the first to know.” 

“Thank you.” 

There was a short silence where Yuta reveled in listening to the slightly off rhythm of his and Taeyong’s breathing. 

“Yonggie,” he began again. 

“Yeah?”

“Want to hear about how I joined the Inagawa-kai?” 

Taeyong turned on his stomach and placed his chin on Yuta’s chest. “Sure.” 

“I grew up in Osaka, where my father worked for an Inagawa outpost. When I was a teenager, he got killed on the job. I was devastated. He was the person I admired most in the world. I didn’t have a rebellious bone in my body because my dad was the center of authority in our house and I thought he was the greatest person who’d ever lived. Anyway, when he died, I still wanted to be like him and tried to join the Inagawa in Osaka in his memory I guess, but it didn’t work out.”

Yuta paused for another drag. He continued. 

“That was because the rest of my family took their grief in a very different direction. My mother and sisters blamed the syndicate and wanted to cut all ties to it, so that would rule out me becoming a yakuza, you know. I figured though, that anything my father would give his life for must be worth something, right? One of his old friends who knew Goro set me up to move to Tokyo and the rest is history. I wouldn’t say I got disowned for my decision, but I rarely talk to my family and going home would just be too unpleasant to stomach. Me being gay didn’t help either.” Yuta chuckled wryly. 

“I bet,” said Taeyong. “That’s really rough though. I’m so sorry about your dad.” 

“It’s all worked itself out, more or less,” said Yuta. “I still miss him though. But this is all to say that you’re the person who knows best for you. The syndicate can be a great place to find community and purpose when you don’t have that anywhere else, I’ll give it that, and that’s how most of us ended up where we are. But, you have to be okay with the violence; both the threat of it against yourself and those you love and that you will inevitably perpetrate against others.” 

Taeyong nodded, his eyes fluttering down to Yuta’s chest. Yuta figured that was enough heavy talk for one night. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed and grinned, ruffling Taeyong’s hair. Taeyong smiled back. 

“I’ll shut up now,” Yuta said. 

“S’okay,” replied Taeyong. “Yuta?”

“Yah?”

“Can – can I stay the night?” 

Yuta balked, scratching his nails over Taeyong’s neck. “Of course!” he said. “I didn’t think that was even a question. It’s too dangerous for you to go back to yours alone in the middle of the night, anyway.”

Taeyong looked relieved and he nuzzled up into Yuta’s shoulder. Yuta hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when he’d said that Taeyong’s sweetness was killing him. He only worried he might not have the natural disposition for his current line of work. 

“Thanks, _Shategashira_.”

Yuta spluttered, poking Taeyong’s nose. “Of course. Besides, anyone who’s that good a lay deserves to spend the night.” 

“Aww,” said Taeyong jokingly, “good cause you owe me anyway, I think. I hadn’t been fucked for a while and now my ass hurts.” 

“I will not apologize for breaking you back in the correct way,” said Yuta, turning out the lamp by his side, and Taeyong swatted his opposite shoulder. 

“Whatever, just cuddle me and I’ll get over it.” 

“Get some sleep, baby. We’ll take my car to the airport tomorrow and we need to leave around eleven.”

“Oh shit, I forgot about the Triads,” admitted Taeyong, voice suddenly breathy with fatigue. 

“You won’t once you’ve met them,” Yuta joked. “Goodnight.” 

“’Night.” 

Yuta struggled to sleep at first, still exhilarated by the night’s events and unable to shake from his mind the memory of how good Taeyong had looked under him – better than he’d even imagined. The only thing which helped pull him under was the quiet rhythm of Taeyong’s sleepy exhales. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of music references in it and there will continue to be more. I'm linking a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/15DDFM6prjhg3BPtsWx99l?si=wT740xNcSr2MNvVnyy9bFQ) I made with all the music I mention or allude to in this chapter, previous chapters, and upcoming chapters. If you're interested in late 70s/early 80s music :)


	7. Week IV pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter WayV!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Japanese (new words this chapter only!):  
> Meiwaku - a troublesome person, a nuisance, a disturber of the peace  
> Kenjougo - a type of formal speech which lowers or humbles the speaker  
> Irezumi - traditional, yakuza-specific tattoos

“Okay,” said Yuta, “this is the last time I’ll ask – I promise. You’re sure I didn’t scare you last night?” 

Taeyong sat in the passenger side of Yuta’s car, waiting in the pick-up area at Narita International Airport the morning after their first night together, listening to "4:00AM" by Taeko Onuki. He rolled his eyes. 

“Yuta,” he began, “if I was going to be scared of you – which I am not, by the way – it wouldn’t be because you startled me when you yelled in the middle of the night, I can tell you that much.”

The night before, Taeyong had fallen asleep in Yuta’s arms; tired, sated, and oh so happy. His little bundle of positivity only unwound when he was shaken rudely awake in the early hours of the morning by Yuta screaming. It didn’t last for long, partially because Taeyong had used all the wits he could gather to coo over Yuta, calming him down and easing his tension, but it had been disturbing, nonetheless. When Taeyong felt like he’d waited a sufficiently long time for Yuta to regain his bearings, he’d ventured to ask what was the matter. All Yuta could put into words was that he’d had a bad dream, and that for as long as he could remember, his bad dreams could sometimes get horrifying or tangible enough to make him react quite violently in the real world, and he was sorry. Taeyong didn’t press him on what that particular dream was about, but it must have been quite upsetting. Who knew what kinds of things Yuta had seen in his life for his unconscious brain to draw upon? Anyway, the next morning Yuta couldn’t stop the incident from preoccupying him, apparently very worried that it would somehow make him less desirable or something. Taeyong was having none of it. 

Yuta sighed as he sank farther into the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Taeyong felt a little pang of guilt that he might have insinuated that maybe he should fear Yuta for other, non-nightmare-related reasons. But like he said, he didn’t. He didn’t fear Yuta even though he’d watched him kill another man with his own eyes. Yuta was too sweet and odd, too predictably human, and made him feel too good to scare him. 

“Okay, good. It just happens sometimes. Haven’t figured out how to control it yet,” Yuta said. He switched the topic. “How’s your ass, by the way?” Taeyong smiled to himself. 

“It’s fine, but you did bruise me a tiny bit.”

Now it was Yuta smiling. “Sorry.” He didn’t seem very sorry, though. “Don’t Change” by INXS started to play over the radio. 

“I don’t care,” Taeyong admitted. “I like a little reminder of who made me feel like this.” 

“Good,” said Yuta. “Next time I’ll mark you up deliberately.”

Taeyong’s breath caught in his throat. _Should they even be talking about this on the job? Wasn’t Yuta worried about being distracted?_ Still, he filed Yuta’s promise away in his mind so he could hold him to his word. 

“You wanted tattoos, anyway,” Yuta teased. “I can give you the low commitment version.” 

“You’re kinda corny sometimes, you know?” Taeyong said, causing Yuta to splutter laughter. 

“Yeah,” he confessed, “I know.” He turned to regard Taeyong with a smile.

Taeyong hadn’t brought anything with him last night to change into for the next day, so (with permission!) he’d raided Yuta’s closet. Taeyong wouldn’t have minded wearing his clothes from the night before – they weren’t particularly slutty and no one he’d be seeing today had seen him in them the previous night – but they still smelled pretty bad from all the sweat and spilled alcohol lodged in their threads. Instead, Taeyong got to smell like Yuta. 

He wore a Bauhaus t-shirt, black jeans, and a gray blazer with a little gold pin with the Inagawa-kai logo on it attached to the lapel. Yuta wore the same one on his black, patent-leather peacoat. He had paired that with black aviator sunglasses for a truly eye-catching combination. Taeyong thought it was funny that Yuta seemed incapable of not dressing like a mobster. 

Before Yuta could say whatever he was about to, a blue BMW pulled up right next to them and rolled down the window, revealing Taeil in the driver’s seat and Mark by his side. Taeil was yelling something Taeyong couldn’t hear over the sound of departing airplanes, and apparently Yuta couldn’t understand it either because he yelled back for Taeil to repeat himself. 

“What?” Taeil asked instead. 

“He’s wondering if you’ve gotten any updates!” Mark repeated.

“No!” Yuta responded. “And why are you double-parking me? Just pull up a little!” 

Taeil obliged and parked in front of Yuta and Taeyong, getting out once he’d cut the engine and walking to Yuta’s window. Yuta turned off the radio. 

“Why do you need an update?” he asked. 

Taeil rested his hands on the car door. “Because,” he explained, “Mark was hanging around headquarters and really wanted to come even though I kept telling him that if they brought more than one extra person with them I would not hesitate to leave him at the airport.”

“Why didn’t you just say no?” Yuta inquired. 

“Because I thought he’d tell you I said no and then you’d be annoyed.”

Taeyong sat there as this whole interaction played out, watching Mark watch them from Taeil’s car. It seemed like Mark got a lot of preferential treatment. Not that Taeyong could talk. 

“Alright,” said Yuta. “It’s not a problem. I don’t have any reason to believe there will be more people with Kun than he said.” 

Taeil clapped his hands over the car door a couple of times. “Okay, just checking. _Shategashira_?”

“Yeah?”

“ _Would_ you have been annoyed with me?” 

Yuta pondered the question for a minute, eyes dancing around the cabin of his car. “Probably,” he eventually admitted, smiling and looking at Taeil out of the corner of his eye.

“Knew it!” 

Part of Taeyong wanted to know what Yuta’s deal was with Mark, scared the curiosity might be coming from a place of burgeoning jealousy. Taeyong was over the moon about his relationship with Yuta, but sometimes he cursed his own decision making. His infatuations always stressed him out terribly, and his situation was already stressful enough. 

He watched as a group of well-dressed men exited the door Kun and his people were supposed to be emerging from. Yuta and Taeil were still talking – something to do with their meeting preparations, no doubt – and hadn’t seemed to notice the new arrivals in the pickup area. 

“Is that them?” Taeyong asked. 

Yuta and Taeil both snapped their heads in the direction Taeyong was pointing. Yuta blinked. 

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “It is.” 

“How many were there supposed to be?” Taeyong asked as a follow-up. 

“Seven,” Taeil answered this time. “They brought two extras with them. Fuck.” 

“Looks like someone’s going in the trunk,” Yuta joked. 

Taeyong and Yuta got out of the car, walking over to the Triads with Taeil and Mark, who’d finally stepped out onto the curb. Taeyong thought he caught Mark giving him a once-over, perhaps registering the presence of Yuta’s clothing on his body. 

“I thought I told you to stay at your post,” Yuta scolded. 

Mark shrugged. “I thought this was a special occasion.” 

The Triads were more inconspicuous than the Inagawa-kai usually were, their tall builds and dark clothing lending them all an appearance more akin to a celebrity and his bodyguards (although who the celebrity was could be up to interpretation) than to a group of criminals. 

Kun, or at least the man Taeyong assumed was Kun, stood at the front of a near perfect triangle of his men, a relaxed confidence defining his features. 

Kun and Yuta acknowledged each other with a bow. 

“ _Shategashira_ , good to see you,” Kun greeted.

“ _Fu Shan Chu_ , the honor’s all mine.” 

Taeyong didn’t know what Kun’s title meant, but he had a feeling Yuta wasn’t pronouncing it very well. Not that he could have done any better. As Taeil and Mark quickly extended their own greetings, Taeyong prayed a silent ‘thank you’ that the Triads all spoke Japanese; he didn’t need to be any more confused than he already was basically nonstop. Although after a moment of thought, he realized this made perfect sense considering these men had been hand-picked to attend an important business meeting (if you could call it a “business meeting”) in Japan. 

“Taeyong,” Yuta began, the indulgent tone Taeyong had grown more and more used to him using when they were together overtaking his voice, “I want you to meet some dear friends.” 

Kun introduced himself first as a Deputy, second in command of his syndicate and in charge of international business; then came Sicheng, a skilled tracker and fighter despite his lithe build; followed by Ten, the Hong Kong liaison for the group’s Thai offshoot who explained by way of introduction that, since no one could ever pronounce his real name, he went by ‘Ten’ for the number of people he’d personally “interrogated” by the time he decided he needed a nickname (“but now I’ve lost count”). The three of them were followed by Yukhei, a tall Hong Kong native and self-described yes-man for Ten; Dejun, who kept his introduction succinct but fixed an almost manic positive energy on Taeyong the whole time he spoke; Kunhang, the “Macanese Snoop,” whatever that meant; and Yangyang who once worked for the Taiwanese Triads and was in charge of smuggling since he used to do it between West and East Germany for some reason Taeyong didn’t quite catch. The seven men were able to pack so much information into their introductions because they kept jumping in on each other’s sentences, adding information they deemed pertinent about their friends seemingly as a way of hyping one another up.

Once the seven men in front finished, Yuta peaked exaggeratedly to the back of the group to address the stragglers. 

“And you two, it seems to me, are none other than Zhong Chenle and Huang Renjun, all grown up now, hm?” The pair smiled mischievously at each other. They wore almost schoolboy-like suits that looked a little too expensive to be trusted in the hands of a late teen or early twenty-something, as they appeared to be.

“Hello Yuta-san,” they each chimed, a bit out of synch. 

“I can tell that you’ve aged too, _Shategashira_ ,” quipped the shorter of the two. The taller joined in. 

“Yeah, please make sure you’re getting enough sleep, sir.” Chenle and Renjun tittered as the Triads rolled their eyes and Kun shot them an absolutely lethal glare. 

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Mark jested from over Taeyong’s left shoulder. “You’re on Yuta’s turf now and I can promise from experience you don’t want to see him pissed. Can’t run to your daddies here.” 

Now it was Chenle rolling his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Mark,” he said, and Mark cackled in amusement. 

“Thank you, Mark,” Taeil interjected, a cautious impatience practically dripping from his voice. “I think our _Shategashira_ can defend himself.” 

“Great!” said Yuta, trying to regain control of the interaction. Taeyong was starting to get nervous because they were all still standing out in the open outside one of Narita’s many exits, and it wouldn’t have taken that much imagination on the part of an onlooker to identify them as a group of gangsters. Yuta didn’t seem nervous though, so Taeyong pushed his anxiety as far down as he could until it was nearly imperceptible. Yuta leaned closer to him a bit as he aimed to guide Taeyong through their ongoing introductions. 

“Those two _meiwaku_ are the sons of Triad commanders. They’re completely spoiled, as you can see.” Taeyong almost giggled, amused by the amount of time Yuta seemed to spend getting bullied by people who were barely out of high school. Yuta continued. “So that’s everyone,” he concluded, pulling away from Taeyong. 

“I’m humbled to meet you all,” Taeyong said, brain overloaded for the hundredth time in a month by all the new faces and by Yuta’s proximity. 

Yuta brushed his finger over Taeyong’s sleeve. It was a small movement and he doubted anyone else saw, but Taeyong had to suppress the heat threatening to overtake his face. Yuta never got into the personal space of his subordinates while conducting business, but then again, Taeyong was an exception in more ways than one. He couldn’t decide if he was more irritated by Yuta messing with him or by his own oversensitivity. 

“You don’t have to use _kenjougo_ with them,” Yuta joked. “Polite language will do. They’re all younger than you, anyway.” 

Taeyong balked. He knew that Chenle and Renjun were young, but his tone hadn’t been meant for them. And he thought Yuta was a prodigy... 

“You want to introduce yourself, Taeyong?” Yuta suggested. 

“Oh, right! Hello, my name is Lee Taeyong and I’m sort of a member-in-training, I suppose. I’m helping Yuta prepare for your upcoming meeting.” Taeyong bowed, having rushed through his introduction, and he was glad no one could see his downcast eyes go wide when he felt Yuta’s palm just above the small of his back, guiding him upright. _Could he not?_

“Taeyong’s been a great asset to us lately,” said Yuta, and Taeyong thought he detected the tiniest hint of teasing in his words. “I trust you’ll all come to appreciate him as we have.” 

Taeyong heard Taeil sigh from behind him. “We should be going,” he stated, “but I regret to inform you that one of the pipsqueaks is going to need to improvise in terms of seating on the way into the city. We were expecting fewer people.” 

Kun smiled wryly. “Maybe I should have hired a professional driver,” he joked and Taeil stiffened in irritation. “But no,” he continued, “I understand. These two insisted last minute on a vacation to Tokyo and their fathers didn’t listen to my concerns about bringing them, so here we are. We’ll figure it out.” 

“Shall we?” asked Yuta, turning on his heel towards the parked cars, and Kun made a hand motion that signaled for all the Triads to follow. 

“You know,” said Taeil, as he watched Mark drop back in formation to share more personal greetings with some of his Triad buddies, “we could just put Mark in the trunk, and this wouldn’t be an issue. He did insist on joining after all.” 

Mark turned his attention from Yukhei to Taeil and scowled. “If you do that, I’ll yell so loud you get pulled over and then I’ll say I’m being kidnapped by the yakuza,” he warned. 

Ten sidled up to Mark and regarded him casually, a smirk forming on his face. “Uh-huh,” he said, “and what do you think the cops will make of that _Irezumi_ on your wrist?” 

“Shut up,” said Mark, seeming to resign himself to an uncomfortable ride back. 

Taeyong and Yuta returned to their car, trailed by Ten, Kun, and a skittish Renjun who held a finger to his lips as he slipped into the middle seat in back. Taeyong paused in front of the vehicle for a moment, next to the passenger side door. He was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to sit shotgun, considering he had the lowest rank of the five of them save Renjun. He looked at Yuta questioningly, expecting a word or gesture directing him to the back seats. Instead, Yuta nodded for Taeyong to enter where he was, so Taeyong opened the door and sat in front, trying to be small and invisible by moving as little as possible. Kun and Ten didn’t seem to question it. 

“Thank you for choosing Inagawa chauffeur service,” Yuta said jokingly once everyone was inside. It took a moment to get going because Mark was trying to force Chenle into the trunk of Taeil’s car and Chenle responded by flailing and emitting a screech so high in pitch that Taeyong worried it might shatter all the windows of both cars. 

“You’re a smart boy, Renjun,” Kun stated, “choosing to come in this car.” 

“Yeah,” Ten chimed, “what would you have done if we tried to force _you_ into the trunk?” 

Renjun smirked. “I have a pocket knife on me and I’m not afraid to use it…” he explained in response, making everyone laugh. In front of them, Mark pouted as the trunk door finally closed over him. Taeyong caught a smile on Yuta’s face out of his peripheral vision as both car engines started. 

***

Taeyong had only been to the “training room” at headquarters a couple of times before. The first time had been when Doyoung decided to nab him and teach him knife throwing, and the second was when Jaehyun asked him to hold arm pads for him to punch. The space was painted yellow from floor to ceiling and had harsh lighting and mold growing like shadows in the corners. One section had weights, mats, and boxing equipment set up next to a mirror; one, some knives and targets; and one, a table and small sitting area. 

The Triads had only been in town a few hours and already, they seemed to be getting quite comfortable. When Taeyong had a moment of free time, Ten and a few others grabbed him without explanation and dragged him off to go “have some fun and get to know each other.” Apparently, that meant subjecting him to public mortification. 

Sicheng had his arms wrapped around Taeyong’s midsection, bending him over and essentially demobilizing him. Taeyong breathed heavily, unable to do anything but struggle and watch the speckled floor under him shift along with his jerky movements. 

“Sicheng, maybe go easy on him?” he heard Kunhang suggest from the table area, where some of the Triads were sat watching.

“I thought Inagawa was tougher than this,” Yangyang heckled, and Taeyong felt hot shame pile on top of his bodily discomfort. 

Dejun piped up next. “He’s new, Yangyang, give him a break.” 

Taeyong wanted to respond, but he was too busy trying to defend himself physically to do it verbally. Sicheng brought his knee up into Taeyong’s stomach, just hard enough to startle him without hurting him too badly. He used Taeyong’s disorientation to trip him, and next thing he knew, Taeyong was sore and heaving with his ass on the padded floor. 

“Or don’t go easy on him,” Kunhang remarked. “Either way.” 

Taeyong looked to his audience. Dejun, Kunhang, and Yangyang were all sitting around the table in the corner, a neglected game of poker which had started as a way of blowing off some competitive steam after “training” laid out between them. Ten stood a bit off to the side, arms crossed and gaze sharp with scrutiny. He took a couple of strides towards Taeyong and Sicheng, a smirk overtaking his mouth as he looked down at Taeyong like he was prey. Taeyong had met plenty of scary people in his life, and the frequency of such encounters had only increased since he started hanging around the yakuza, but Ten, with his wicked expressiveness and black leather suit in this moment gave Taeyong a chill of pure terror. 

He noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see it was Sicheng reaching his hand out to help Taeyong up. He smiled, face inviting and a welcome contrast to Ten’s entire aura. Taeyong took his hand and let Sicheng pull him to his feet. 

“I thought you were supposed to be Yuta’s bodyguard,” Ten said plainly. 

“Well, not exactly,” Taeyong tried to explain. “I just follow him around and keep a lookout for trouble; anything suspicious.” 

Ten narrowed his eyes in a way Taeyong felt had to be partly for show. “That’s all, huh? Doesn’t sound like much.” Ten looked Taeyong head to toe and hummed thoughtfully. “Could there be another reason Yuta keeps you around?” 

_Jesus Christ, did everyone know?_ The room felt suddenly cold as Taeyong’s body came down from his previous exertion. He tried to suppress a shiver as his brain rushed to come up with a response. Thankfully, Sicheng stepped in. 

“He knows how to fight, Ten, he’s just used to fighting brainless brutes.” 

Taeyong nodded, hurrying to redeem himself. “Sicheng’s right,” he confirmed. “M’sorry.” 

Ten let out a laugh through his nose. “No need to grovel,” he said, smile growing slightly less intimidating. He pushed a finger playfully into Taeyong’s shoulder, sending Taeyong’s mind reeling. “Anyway, I heard you saved Yuta from an assassin, so I’m in your corner. I’m just taking it upon myself to help you improve and make yourself even more useful.” 

Taeyong laughed in confusion, spitting out a sarcastic, “gee, thanks.” 

Dejun expelled a sound of wounded disappointment from behind Ten, certainly brought about by the poker game. Kunhang and Yangyang snickered. Ten ignored them all, keeping his attention trained on Taeyong. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, catlike.

“Wanna see something cool?” 

“Sure?” Taeyong ventured, not sure if this was another way of saying “let’s have some fun and get to know each other.” He steadied his core in case Ten decided to tackle him or something. 

Instead, Ten opened his leather jacket, giving his torso the effect of having bat wings. Taeyong was surprised, but not as surprised as he would have been a month ago, to see the glint of what had to be at least two dozen small metal weapons emanating from the lining. 

“Shit…”

“Nice, huh?” Ten prompted, and Taeyong felt compelled to nod in agreement. Ten used his head to indicate the right side of his jacket, where he had stored a slew of small knives, brass knuckles, and throwing stars, among other things Taeyong didn’t recognize. 

“This side is for hand to hand combat,” he explained, smiling like a snake about to bite. He indicated to his left next, where he had some longer and thicker knives, plyers, metal clamps, and a bouquet of slim needles, each about nine inches in length. “And this side is for extracting information.” Ten seemed to register Taeyong’s cautious surprise. “I only show you this so you know what you’re up against,” he cooed. 

“Al-alright,” Taeyong almost swallowed his words. “I appreciate it.” 

Before Ten could terrorize him any further, the door swung open and everyone was looking to see who had arrived. It was Yukhei, trailed by Yuta.

“Yup, they’re in here,” Yukhei was saying, holding the door open for Yuta to enter. 

Yuta stalked towards Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng and the boys at the corner table all stood in greeting.

“Ten,” Yuta said in mock disapproval, “are you traumatizing my poor partner?” 

“I’d call it ‘educating,’” Ten responded. “If he gets traumatized that’s simply a byproduct of necessary learning.”

“Okay, Ten, just don’t scare him off,” Yuta replied.

“It’s not like I could leave if I wanted to,” Taeyong grumbled, and Yuta shot him a cutting look, but it softened quickly into an expression of vague sadness. 

“Taeyong, you’re wanted in room 2A.” 

Taeyong schooled his face. “Right away, _Shategashira_.” 

Yuta turned on his heel and exited the room. Yukhei stayed by the door, Taeyong figured, because Ten needed him. Taeyong followed hesitantly after, but Yukhei stopped him on the way out, looming over him but smiling so genuinely that Taeyong felt more comforted than scared. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Yukhei began, a thick accent coating his deep voice, “Sicheng kicks my ass all the time too.” 

Taeyong had a hard time believing that considering Yukhei, though he was roughly the same height as Sicheng, was noticeably larger in every other way. He was probably either too nice or too reliant on blunt force. Taeyong let out a breathy laugh. 

“Thanks. That does make me feel a bit better.” 

“No problem.” 

Taeyong left, hearing Ten’s call of “bye-bye, Taeyong! I’ll see you again soon!” echo down the hall after him. His stomach sank when he thought of the coldness he’d accidentally caused in Yuta, but the other man was nowhere to be found so he figured he’d just report where he was needed and find Yuta later. 

Room 2A was one floor down. Taeyong tried to open it himself but it was locked, so he opted to bang on the metal to announce his presence. It opened, a grinning pair of faces belonging to Johnny and Mina greeting him on the other side. 

“Yonggie!” Mina exclaimed, moving herself away from the entrance so Taeyong could pass her, which he did. “Welcome!” 

The room was little more than a cinder block box with a metal chair in the center. If Taeyong didn’t trust Mina and Johnny at this point, he would be expecting something horrible to occur in such a room. 

“What’s going on, you guys?” Taeyong asked. 

Johnny closed the door and came to lean on the wall across from Taeyong. 

“Why don’t you take a seat,” he suggested, and Taeyong did. “We’re here to impart on you some very valuable lessons.” 

Taeyong grimaced. He was exhausted from what Sicheng had put him through and just wanted to find Yuta. He’d had enough “education” and “lessons” for one day. Nevertheless, he figured he had no choice but to indulge his captors. 

“What lessons are those?” Taeyong asked, rocking himself slightly against his chair. Mina joined Johnny on the wall. 

She answered, “Tactics for resisting interrogation.” 

Taeyong started. “Whoa. Okay…” 

“I know it sounds bad,” said Johnny, “but it’s really important for you to know. Yuta asked us to do this.” 

Taeyong felt his skin prickling as he grew more nervous. _Why didn’t Yuta just teach him himself, then?_ he wondered, posing the question out loud. 

Johnny smirked. “Because, he has important shit to get done. He can’t tend to his Yonggie constantly. He has to delegate some of that.” 

Taeyong gritted his teeth. “Alright, alright. But why do I need to know this? I’m practically useless so why would anyone bother kidnapping me?” 

Johnny slid down the wall until he was crouching against it, his face softening in mild concern. 

“First of all,” he said, “you should know you’re not useless, Taeyong.” 

“Yeah!” Mina added. “He might give you a hard time, but Johnny keeps telling me how much he likes having you around.” Johnny smiled at this. 

“You hang around with a Lieutenant all day!” he said, and Mina finished his sentiment with, “you are TOTALLY kidnappable, Taeyong!” 

Taeyong laughed at the preposterousness of this compliment. “Thanks, guys. I’m sorry, I’m just in a bit of a mood today,” he explained. “And I guess you’re right.” 

“Of course we are,” Johnny said, pushing back off the wall to standing. “Anyway, now that we’re all on the same page, this is where things might get a bit unpleasant again. We give this training to every member of the syndicate and all of our serious romantic partners, so contrary to your instincts, you are doubly in need of this.”

Taeyong squirmed, uncomfortable in a bad way over the fact that he wasn’t technically a syndicate member yet and uncomfortable in a good way at the knowledge that Yuta considered him _serious_. 

Mina smiled. “Don’t worry, this has come in handy for me, for sure.” 

“That just makes me worry more, you realize?” Taeyong replied with a grimace. 

“Okay, fair enough. Sorry. But it’s better you know than end up dead or betraying your friends and boyfriend!” 

“Taeyong,” Johnny began. “Let’s start with what you know. When you picture a yakuza kidnapping, what’s happening?” 

Taeyong’s mind flew to the image of Ten’s sparkling and deadly bat wings. “I try not to picture that, but I saw what Ten carries around with him, so I think I have an idea.” 

Johnny laughed hollowly as Mina watched him. “Yeah, Ten’s a special guy. I think he’s the only person I’ve met who genuinely enjoys that part of the job. Anyway, so you know it could get bad.” 

Johnny lifted his shirt to reveal his lower abdomen. There was a long, thin scar across his obliques, slicing an inked koi fish in half. 

“Knives are common,” he explained vaguely. “I got this one from a Sumiyoshi thug nicknamed ‘The Butcher.’ But we’ll get to that later.” 

Taeyong swallowed thickly as he tried to steady his buzzing eyes. Johnny continued. 

“Obviously, you know that we expect you not to divulge any sensitive information. There are three things you are allowed to confirm for your captors though, just to get them thinking you won’t be a complete pain in their asses. Those three things are name, rank, and clan. Got it?” 

Taeyong remembered how Yuta had lost patience quickly with the Yamaguchi assassin who refused to give any personal details. He didn’t want to end up like that guy. He nodded. 

“Lee Taeyong, Kumi-in, Inagawa-kai,” he recited, as if anyone in the room didn’t already know. 

“But no more than that,” Johnny confirmed. 

“Another important thing to keep in mind,” Mina continued, “is that there are ways to avoid the worst tactics. If they’ve gone to the trouble of capturing you, that’s because they think you have crucial information that they need. It’s in their interest to keep you alive.”

Taeyong nodded along, determined to be a good student as he realized more and more clearly the very real possibility he might need to use some of what he was learning. 

“Although it can be tempting to act defiant as if you’re not bothered by the pain, and many experienced gangsters will do this to avoid hurting their fragile little egos,” Mina looked pointedly at Johnny, who just shrugged, guilty, “it can do you some good to play to the opposite. You should exaggerate your injuries and pain. Even if they try to use that against you and humiliate you, ultimately if they think you’re closer to death than you are they’ll let up much faster. Make sense?” 

Taeyong nodded quickly. Exaggerated pain, he could do that. “Makes sense,” he confirmed. 

“Okay,” Johnny went on, “another thing. Obviously if you ever did get kidnapped, we’d send some people out to find you, and hopefully they’d be successful.” 

Taeyong shifted in his seat, watching Johnny start to pace. _Hopefully_. 

“When you do get rescued, for that to end well you need to stay calm and not try to join in the fight. If they see you moving around a lot or if you look like you’re about to break out of whatever restraints they have you in and fight back, then they’re way more likely to treat you like an enemy combatant and not like a prisoner. You could get killed. It’s kind of counterintuitive, but it’s important.” 

Taeyong rolled his ankles, gaining some comfort out of the way the stretch and crack of the movement soothed his muscles. He took a deep breath.

“Hey guys, why are we doing this right now? Am I in danger?” 

Mina and Johnny exchanged a glance, sending Taeyong’s heart racing even faster than it already was as he tried to decipher their silent communication. Mina spoke first. 

“Not necessarily,” she said. 

“We just want to prepare you,” Johnny added. “Well, Yuta wanted us to prepare you because he’s been really worried since that assassin came after you two. We can’t be sure that anything too serious will go down but if, say, a gang war does start over this Mitsubishi thing, we want you to be prepared. Got it?” 

“Oh…yeah, got it.” Taeyong sighed. “I supposed it’s too late to just…let me go, huh?” 

Johnny’s face screwed up and Mina’s twitched. Taeyong thought of their conversation at Johnny’s pachinko bar, assuming she too was pouring over the memory of her own warnings. 

“I – look,” Johnny began, and Taeyong already knew the answer he was about to receive. “It’s been discussed, and the higher ups are adamant; you’ll be given the choice as soon as the Mitsubishi deal is secured, but no earlier. They felt they needed to bring you on in the beginning, and I’m in no position to question if that was overkill, but at this point you’re certainly stuck, considering all the information you have.” Taeyong nodded, eyes fluttering to the floor as Johnny leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He huffed a breath. “Do you – do you want to leave, Taeyong?” 

Taeyong blinked. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what leaving would mean or where he could ever go. His new life was exciting in a way he’d always dreamed about and he liked the people around him more than he’d liked anyone in a long time; Johnny and Mina going out of their way to help him stay safe, the other _Tora_ regiment members all welcoming him so easily, and Yuta…god, Yuta… At the same time though, Taeyong’s new life hadn’t managed to shake the feeling he so often had that he was floating through existence, incapable of being grounded even by the most intense experiences. He wasn’t used to things working out for him. Besides, the last time he made a major decision for himself, he’d been called xenophobic names and battered within an inch of his life. 

“I…don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t think so, anyway, but I don’t want to be a liability.” 

Johnny smiled slightly. “That’s not worth worrying about because you aren’t.”

Taeyong wasn’t convinced, but he nodded anyway. “Alright,” he said. “What else have you got to teach me?” 

Johnny and Mina let him go after another half hour or so of discussion, teaching him how to school his demeanor to fit somewhere between deference and defiance, how to relax himself in a way that would prevent excessive bleeding and make blows easier to endure, and how to give answers that kept the line of questioning going but revealed nothing to the interrogators. By the time he left room 2A, Taeyong was wondering if he should feel empowered or petrified, his mind careening from one emotion to the other with every new thought. Once he was done processing, he decided to find Yuta. 

He’d barely had the chance to talk to him all day and it was weird for him. The night before had been ridiculously intimate, Yuta fucking him so well, opening up to him about his past, and holding him as they fell asleep; so the weird shifts Taeyong had observed all day in Yuta between teasing and aloof were giving him whiplash since he couldn’t ask what was causing them. He hoped Yuta wasn’t busy. 

“ _Douzo_.” 

Taeyong’s heart sank when he opened Yuta’s office door and saw Kun there, though he tried not to show it. 

“Taeyong, what is it?” Yuta asked, an air of impatience radiating from him and from Kun as he turned around to see who was there. 

“ _Shategashira_ ,” Taeyong saluted. He felt like it was his first day all over again. “Sorry to interrupt. I was just hoping to speak with you whenever you’re free.” 

Yuta’s expression softened. “Of course. Why don’t you sit by the window while we finish up?” 

“Thank you,” Taeyong said, bowing sheepishly and settling into one of the indicated chairs. “Excuse me.” 

Kun looked sideways at Taeyong, silent. 

“You can speak freely in front of him,” assured Yuta. Kun nodded and pulled his attention back to the matter at hand. 

“I just don’t understand how they would have gotten ahold of that information. Could it have been through Donghyuck’s crew?” By “they” Taeyong assumed Kun meant the Yamaguchi-gumi. 

Yuta shook his head, placing his fingers in a check mark shape at his chin. “I doubt it. Donghyuck is extremely careful.” 

Kun was growing exasperated. Taeyong felt like maybe this was an interaction he shouldn’t be witnessing. He didn’t quite know why he felt that way, though. 

“Well, Yuta, there has to be a weak link somewhere, and I trust that you’ll eliminate it. We’re already in a less stable position than I was expecting upon arrival.” 

Yuta smiled accommodatingly. “Thank you for your confidence. The leak could have also come from a different regiment, but I’m doing all I can to weed out whoever is responsible.” 

“Good,” said Kun. “Our success and our partnership could depend on this.” 

“I understand.” 

Right then, Chenle and Renjun showed up at the door, having finished a shopping trip down the street, to tell Kun that Ten was looking for him. Taeyong thought he saw Kun direct a sliver of a smile his way as he left. 

Yuta sat up and joined Taeyong by the window in the chair to his left. He sat and sighed, a big, open smile overtaking his face. There was the whiplash again. 

“Hi baby,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Did Johnny and Mina give you the talk?” 

Taeyong snorted a laugh, looking at Yuta from under his fringy bangs. “Yeah, they did.”

“You okay?” Yuta asked. Taeyong shrugged.

“Could’ve been worse,” he guessed. “Good stuff to know.” 

Yuta leaned in. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?” 

“I guess a little. But there was other stuff too.” 

Taeyong looked around Yuta’s office. He’d been stuck almost all day in rooms with concrete walls and fluorescent lighting, and it was making him want to jump out of his skin. He told Yuta to wait a moment for him to get up and turn off the lights. On second thought, while he was up and about, he opened the window to flush the room of the stench of stale cigarette smoke. Yuta watched him with caution as he underwent his little chores. Taeyong turned from the window and made his way back to his chair, eyes finally able to relax in the dimness. 

“Johnny and Mina said you’re worried I might be in danger.” 

Yuta sighed again. “I don’t necessarily think you’re in imminent danger, but I want to be safe. It’s always a possibility. Sorry if I scared you.” 

“Like I told you this morning,” Taeyong repeated. “You don’t scare me. I just want you to be up front with me.” 

“Up front, huh?” Yuta paused, his eyes flitting over the floor in thought. “Truth is I’ve been worried about you since the Yamaguchi assassin. It’s always risky to take on a new recruit, or a lover for that matter,” Taeyong blushed at the word, “but up until that point I don’t think the danger felt as real. I would never forgive myself if I let something bad happen to you, Taeyong.” 

One of the things Taeyong had been wondering about clicked into place for him. “Your dream last night…is that what – ”

“Yes. That’s part of why I was worried about frightening you. Thought I might have said something while unconscious about you, I don’t know, getting abducted or something.” 

“You didn’t,” said Taeyong, breathing a laugh. 

“Good.” Yuta smiled, gaze trained at the open window and fingers fiddling with the bottom of his blazer. Taeyong wondered if he was nervous to make eye contact. “And then later when you mentioned how you’re basically stuck with me, then I felt like shit all over again because it’s true: you’re essentially my hostage.” With that, Yuta finally looked Taeyong in the face. “I just don’t know what to do when you say things like that. I know this seems silly, I mean I’ve never shied away from doing arguably unethical things before, but I couldn’t help but ask myself if you even like me -- ”

The pressure that had been threatening to send Taeyong shooting out of his own body finally became too much, and in lieu of doing the impossible, he found himself damming up Yuta’s stream of consciousness with a kiss. 

“There we go,” he teased, pulling away and reveling in the awestruck look on Yuta’s face. “I had to shut you up somehow.” 

Yuta’s face hadn’t moved since the kiss ended and a smile was spreading over it like melting butter. “That’s no way to speak to your commander,” he teased back, sounding a little drunk on relief. Taeyong spoke. 

“ _Shategashira_ , I hope you can forgive me. But you _are_ being ridiculous. I like you, okay? And it’s not because I’m scared or brainwashed. I like you because I like _you_. I like the way you make me feel. I’m sorry for making you think I wanted to leave.” 

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand and kissed it. “ _I’m_ sorry for being such a basket case. Aish, it’s embarrassing, huh?”

Taeyong snorted. “Oh please. If you weren’t insecure sometimes, I might _actually_ be afraid of you.”

He smiled to himself, wondering for a moment if maybe he needed to stop thinking so much and just bask in the strange twist of fate that had brought him and Yuta together. They were still getting to know each other, but Taeyong had never been with someone so charismatic yet so open. If he was going to risk being kidnapped and tortured it might just end up being worth it. Taeyong allowed himself to be lost enough in thought that a few seconds felt like minutes and he barely heard it when the door flung open without warning. Yuta heard it though, wrenching his fingers from where they were laced between Taeyong’s. 

“Yuta-san!” said Renjun as he entered the room trailed by Chenle. “What’s going on in here?”

Yuta glared. “Didn’t anyone teach you to knock? That’s very disrespectful.” 

“Sorry, didn’t know you had anything to hide,” Chenle quipped. “Anyway, Kun is looking for you again.”

Yuta stood, reluctantly it seemed to Taeyong. “Why couldn’t he send someone else to fetch me?” 

Chenle rolled his eyes as they left the room and on the way out Taeyong heard Renjun explain, “because, he told us if all we were gonna do was loiter he might as well put us to use.” 

Taeyong giggled, catching himself when Yuta peered back through the door. “Hey, you can go home. Or stick around and make some friends, yeah?” 

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, and Yuta rapped his knuckles against the door with a grin before he was gone. Taeyong stood, determined to have some Triad friends by the end of the day. 


	8. Week IV pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update 2.0: 1/11/21  
> Hi friends.  
> If you were here when I published this chapter, you know I was really pressed and emo about the whole Yuta non scandal this summer. I was, unfortunately, very worried about it which is funny since I'm p sure if I hadn't gone on tumblr for a couple choice days I wouldn't have even seen anything about it. This is just to say, that's why the comments are Like That.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Japanese (new words this chapter only!):  
> Tenkasu - bits of tenpura  
> Beni shoga - pickled ginger  
> Ita! - ouch!  
> Itadakimasu - bon appetit  
> Masu cup - box-shaped bamboo sake cup  
> Amazake - sweet sake  
> Amaterasu - Japanese goddess of the sun - a major figure in Japanese mythology  
> Gomen - sorry

In the days that followed, Taeyong declared that he was giving himself three short-term goals. “Oh yeah?” Yuta asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “What would those be?” Taeyong elaborated: Goal number one was for Taeyong to get his friends, new and newer, to help him be a better gangster. So, Yuta arranged for Sicheng and Yukhei to take Taeyong to the training room for workouts and, once he’d confirmed Taeyong was comfortable with it, to have Ten give him more “lessons.” Yuta had sat in on their first session, watching in pained silence as Ten used one of his long metal pins to tether Taeyong to the ground through his shoe and then attacked him. Yuta then enlisted Dejun, Yangyang, and Kunhang to teach Taeyong (and Mark and Jungwoo for good measure – they needed some review) how to follow people effectively and avoid _being_ followed. According to Taeyong’s recounting, it had been exactly like Yuta’s own training, each of the Inagawa members taking turns slinking around the backstreets of Kabuki-chō and getting critiqued by the Triads afterwards. Yuta let Taeyong hang around when he discussed strategy and finances with Doyoung, Taeil, Johnny, and Jaehyun. Taeyong didn’t really understand any of it, nor did he need to, but Yuta figured it was good for him to feel like he was getting the whole picture.

Taeyong’s second goal, he said with almost too much confidence, was to get Yuta to fuck him as much as possible without it becoming a distraction, and it’d been going well for both of them. Taeyong had slept over at Yuta’s place three out of the last four nights and Yuta started taking a kind of dirty pride in the way his regiment grew used to seeing Taeyong in his clothing. They’d started experimenting explicitly with dom/sub dynamics and their own kinks, one of Yuta’s favorite moments coming when Taeyong accompanied him home after a long day. He’d fixed himself a drink and sat, legs spread over his couch and arms elongated over its back, the drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Since that night, Yuta had to stop himself intermittently from getting half-hard at the memory of Taeyong trying to get off grinding on his thigh, Yuta more or less ignoring him as his clothes soaked through with his sweat and he cried in frustration into Yuta’s shoulder for him to just do something – touch him, degrade him, anything. Yuta even impressed himself with the willpower he’d used to keep Taeyong strung out like that. So yeah, Taeyong’s second goal was going just fine, Yuta would say.

Goal number three was the most complicated: It was for Taeyong to make up his mind about what he’d do after the Mitsubishi deal (hopefully) went through. As promised, Yuta tried to remain removed from Taeyong’s decision making process, even if Taeyong would sometimes come to him with questions. Would they be able to keep seeing each other? Whether Taeyong stayed or left, they could still be together, Yuta had answered, although part of him worried that if Taeyong left he’d find someone he liked better the minute they no longer shared a lifestyle. But that wouldn’t be the case if Taeyong left after officially joining, right? Taeyong had clarified. If he changed his mind too late? That’s right, if you leave too late, you leave everything for good. It’s okay, Yuta had told him, don’t force yourself into a decision until the deal’s been worked out. 

Yuta’s goal, on the other hand, was simply to stay sane and focused, and enjoy everything while it lasted. Specifically, he wanted to enjoy cooking takoyaki, Osaka’s specialty food, for Taeyong one night after a rare day off, and he wanted Taeyong to enjoy eating it. He wandered around Taeyong’s kitchen, alternating between muttering to himself and asking Taeyong why the hell it was so hard to find anything in there. Yuta paused before his metal mixing bowl, trying to remember what the next ingredient for the batter was supposed to be. 

“You sure you don’t want help, babe?” Taeyong asked, and Yuta looked over to where he was sitting on the little table he kept in the kitchen, swinging his legs over the edge and giving Yuta moon eyes. He almost laughed. Taeyong had been nervous to have Yuta over, endlessly denigrating his apartment to the point that Yuta would have thought he was being invited over to a literal shack if he hadn’t already seen the building once, so Yuta made a point of fawning over the small space the second he arrived. 

“No, darling,” replied Yuta to Taeyong’s question. “I told you, this is my treat.”

Taeyong shrugged as a new Blondie song started to play from his record player in the living room. “Suit yourself.” Yuta stretched his shoulders, finally remembering that the egg was supposed to come next. He’d learned how to cook from his mom, but that meant that sometimes his recipes were more like distant memories from ten to fifteen years ago. Yuta hummed along to the music, turning to search for the egg carton in the fridge. 

“So, can we go over this one more time so I don’t screw it up?” Taeyong asked. Yuta was losing track of the number of times Taeyong had already been briefed on their plans for Minatozaki Sana, but if he needed to hear it again to feel secure, Yuta supposed he’d play along. 

“Sure,” Yuta confirmed, cracking one egg into the half-finished batter. “But there’s really not that much you have to do, Taeyong. I just told you the whole plan so you won’t be caught off guard by anything.”

Taeyong practically buzzed against the table below him. “Right, so basically I’m going to stand by her door while you and Doyoung convince her to flip on Yamaguchi. There’s a window in the entryway, so I’ll have an easy view out if anyone comes, but I need to be sure not to be seen from the other end.”

“Exactly,” said Yuta, whisking. The yellow yolk was swirling into the sticky mixture like streaks in hair. “I don’t anticipate it taking too long, but I can’t make any promises. If she resists, you just stay at your post and we’ll deal with her, unless she makes it all the way to her front door or something.”

Taeyong nodded, his legs knocking against the table’s. “What’s ‘not too long?’” he asked.

Yuta thought for a moment. “Twenty minutes to an hour.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Yuta finished mixing his batter and tapped the butt of the bowl against the counter several times, looking quizzically at Taeyong. “Is that all clear? Can we talk about something not work-related now?”

Taeyong smiled. “Yeah we can,” he agreed, and Yuta let out a sigh of a laugh. “Like what? Is gang talk stressing you out?” 

Yuta sniffed the batter. It smelled like it had enough dashi in it, so he figured it was fine. _Now where did Taeyong keep his soy sauce?_ He rattled through Taeyong’s drawers as he answered.

“Honestly, a little bit. This is the most responsibility I’ve ever been given, and I want it to go well.”

When Yuta looked back to Taeyong, soy sauce triumphantly in hand, Taeyong’s face had contorted to show his own worry. 

“Wait, you’re really anxious about it?” he asked. “I was sorta joking.”

Yuta set the bottle down on Taeyong’s green plastic countertop, making his way to the table.

Taeyong pouted as Yuta’s palms pressed over his soft cheeks. “I’m a little anxious,” Yuta admitted, a warm feeling flashing through his chest at the sight of Taeyong’s face all squished up, “but I gave you your job description and worrying about my anxiety is not included. Got it?”

Taeyong smiled sheepishly. “Got it.”

Yuta let go of Taeyong’s face and returned to his cooking project. “Just wanted some time together where I didn’t have to worry about work.” He dumped some of the soy sauce into his batter and started to stir again. He registered a little giggle coming from Taeyong.

“Anything I can do to help destress you?” he asked slyly. Yuta mixed harder. 

“Yonggie, now is not the time…”

Taeyong just shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yuta tried to ignore the not-so-subtle look Taeyong was giving him, opting to divert the conversation to ask where Taeyong’s takoyaki griddle was. Taeyong hopped off the table, mouthing the words to “Heart of Glass.” 

“I’ll get it,” he offered, crouching next to the low cabinet where he kept his pots and pans and extracting the desired item.

“Thanks.” 

Taeyong leaned against his counter and watched Yuta rub oil over and then pour the batter into the six half-spheres in the cast iron griddle. Yuta inserted the octopus bits, _tenkasu_ , _beni shoga_ , and sauce into the center of each raw takoyaki, conscious of every movement under Taeyong’s sticky gaze but trying to relax by listening to Taeyong’s whispery singing. Once sufficiently prepped, Yuta brought the griddle over to the table and turned it on, sitting to watch the food cook. Taeyong sat across from him, laying his head against the wooden tabletop and blinking as heat started to sizzle from the takoyaki. 

Yuta sighed, thinking. Taeyong made him think a lot about a lot of things. Some of it was serious like, was their relationship sustainable? Was he blinded by his infatuation and risking too much for someone he’d know for barely more than a month? Was Taeyong going to end up hurt? Because if he did, it would be squarely Yuta’s fault. Mostly though, the thoughts Taeyong prompted in Yuta’s head were less dire but just as invasive. Yuta felt a rush at how gorgeous Taeyong looked like that, sleepily gazing and allowing himself to receive the care of someone else’s cooking. _On second thought_ … 

“Hey, so I know I just said now is not the time,” Yuta began, rolling his sleeves up as he registered the room warming and noticing Taeyong’s eyes on his arms, “but there might be something that would help me destress. But uh, you might think it’s a little early, I’m not sure.”

Taeyong sat up, smiling. “Oh?” 

“I think it would be fun to spend a night at a love hotel,” Yuta admitted, and a splotch of oil jumped out of the griddle as if to punish him for being pushy. “ _Ita_!” 

Taeyong just grinned. “Yuta,” he began, crossing his arms over the table, “why is that such a big deal?”

Yuta sighed, feeling like he was about to get laughed at. “Because, I don’t want to take you to just any love hotel,” he explained. He figured he’d gotten himself this far, he might as well finish digging his own grave. “I want to take you to the Alpha Inn.” To his surprise, Taeyong didn’t laugh, nor did he look confused; his grin only stretched wider, giving him crow’s feet around his eyes. Yuta wondered if he needed to clarify what he’d said. “It’s –”

“I know what the Alpha Inn is,” Taeyong blurted. 

Yuta felt his face go small, the sizzling of the takoyaki turning to static in his ears. “Oh, then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Taeyong explained, “I was waiting for you to tell me why you were being weird about it.”

“Oh,” Yuta repeated, and Taeyong pressed on. 

“So why were you? I mean, we’ve already kind of established that we both like that kind of thing, right?”

Yuta was beginning to feel like a first-class idiot. “Yeah,” he tried to backtrack, “but I think it’s a bit different from anything we’ve discussed. There are whips and stuff on the walls there and…”

Yuta hadn’t managed to finish his sentence before Taeyong was laughing in his face.

“Yuta,” he said, “have you been there before?”

“Yeah, I have,” Yuta explained, growing indignant, “but _you’re_ different too.” Taeyong’s eyes rounded in curiosity. “You are! I haven’t had many relationships so when I’ve gone there it’s been, like, with hookups who are there for a specific purpose.”

Taeyong wiggled his eyebrows. “And what if I told you I’d been there with hookups before too?”

Yuta let out a breath of relief, settling into a more self-assured comportment. He honestly should have figured. Taeyong seemed to notice the change in Yuta’s body language, because he wiggled back into his chair, away from the table, and softened his face from the challenging aspect it had taken on before. Yuta smiled in satisfaction. “Then, I wouldn’t worry about anything but us enjoying ourselves,” he answered.

Taeyong smiled to himself as he looked at his hands in his lap. “So, letting you take me to a BDSM-themed love hotel: that’s what I could do to help you destress before next week. Glad I got that out of you.”

“But there are some things we need to discuss first,” Yuta said, figuring the takoyaki looked adequately brown and standing to find a couple plates and pairs of chopsticks. 

Taeyong nodded. “Of course.”

Yuta returned, having found what he was looking for with surprising ease.

“First of which being that we have to change up the title, ‘kay?” He sat and turned the griddle off, using his metal chopsticks to pull out two takoyaki balls. “No more _Shategashira_ during sex. I can’t be getting hard every time anyone talks to me at work.”

Yuta slid a plate of food over to Taeyong. “That’s fair. What should I call you, then?”

Yuta blew on his dinner. “Sir? Does that work?”

Taeyong smiled. “Yes, _sir_.” And Yuta smiled back. 

“Perfect,” he remarked, hand reaching out to Taeyong’s hair on instinct. “You’re perfect.”

Taeyong nuzzled into Yuta’s touch, whining when Yuta pulled away. Yuta was happy to have taken back control of the situation, but he also figured he needed to change the topic of conversation if he was going to be able to focus on his food. Thankfully, Taeyong did it for him, picking up a ball of takoyaki and holding it near his face, expression contemplative. 

“Smells good,” he said. He blew on it until it had stopped steaming, then nibbled experimentally after a quick " _itadakimasu_." Yuta still held off, all too familiar with the treacherousness of eating takoyaki.

“How is it?” he asked as Taeyong broke through to the molten center. He paused.

“Yuta?” Taeyong began, holding the takoyaki to show off the liquidy center. He started laughing and Yuta found himself hurled back into embarrassment. “I don’t think it’s cooked all the way…”

“Shit, sorry!” Yuta spluttered. “Here, give it back!”

Taeyong guffawed, letting some of the hot but nearly raw batter fall from his mouth to his cupped hand. “What?”

“Just give it here!”

“Okay…” Taeyong handed over the mangled ball and watched Yuta return it to its iron slot, switching the griddle back on and trying to look competent.

“Guess this will have to do,” he said, placing his own serving back to cook more as well. Yuta smiled to himself, propping the side of his head against his fist and his elbow on the table. Taeyong smiled back and said in a small voice,

“I thought you knew what you were doing, Osaka boy. I’m a good cook, you could have just let me help.”

Yuta shrugged. “Maybe I oversold myself. This’ll work though.”

Taeyong made a pained face (“I’m so hungry though”) and Yuta rolled his eyes. 

He became suddenly hyper-aware of the silence framing their conversation, so he got up to switch out the finished album while the food got done cooking. 

“What do you want me to play?”

“Kate Bush!” Taeyong yelled in response. “’The Dreaming’ should be sitting right next to the record player.”

Yuta replaced “Parallel Lines” with Taeyong’s suggestion, dropped the pin, and returned to the kitchen as “Sat In Your Lap” began to play. He also realized he forgot the mayo and the bonito for their dinner, and puttered around the kitchen again to find them, feeling like even more of a dumbass than he had for undercooking the food. The takoyaki came out much better the second time around, and once it had cooled off, it was gone in a fraction of the time Yuta had spent making it. 

“Okay, I guess you do know what you’re doing,” Taeyong admitted, his mouth contorting around a particularly large bite. 

After eating, Taeyong insisted on doing the dishes. Yuta took on Taeyong’s former position watching from the table, thinking to himself how lovely he looked in an apron, focused on getting everything spick and span. Fuck, it was so domestic, and Yuta hadn’t had anything like it in so long. Yuta was so shaken up about it he felt like the takoyaki in his stomach was trying to bust out through his belly button.

Taeyong glanced at his admirer as he scratched the suds from his hands into the sink. “Stop looking at me like that,” he said.

For a mobster, Yuta had kind of a bad poker face when he wasn’t focused enough on it. “Like what?”

“Like you want to…I don’t know, make me a housewife.”

Yuta rested his face in his hands. “What if I do?”

Taeyong chuckled. “First of all, that’s quite literally impossible. Second of all, it makes me feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

Taeyong dried the metal mixing bowl as he spoke. “Not sure how to explain it,” he said. “Kind of itchy. Like I want to hide?”

Yuta tried to calm down so he could stop the fascination from practically dripping over his face. “Sorry.”

Taeyong put the bowl away. “S’okay. I’m also flattered. Thanks for cooking, by the way – even if I gave you shit about it.”

“Of course. It was kind of fun.”

Taeyong finished drying off and putting everything away, took off his apron, and suggested they retire to the living room couch to listen to their music.

Yuta sat down and let Taeyong situate himself so that he was lying down, head in Yuta’s lap. Yuta played with Taeyong’s hair. 

“Yuta?”

“Mm?”

Taeyong’s face had an air of stress about it, not like there was anything truly wrong, but more like he had a thought he needed to sort out. 

“How did you figure out you liked guys?”

Yuta took a moment to process. That was not what he expected Taeyong to ask. 

“Oh, um, I don’t know, how did you figure it out?”

Taeyong scowled. “I mean eventually it just sort of became obvious,” he said.

“Exactly,” Yuta confirmed. “So, that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”

Taeyong shook his head, skull rocking against Yuta’s thighs. 

“Guess not,” he allowed, “How old were you though? When you realized?”

Yuta pulled a strand of Taeyong’s dark hair until it stood on end. “I don’t know, late teens probably, when I really sorted it out?” Yuta chuckled, calling upon some well-repressed memories. “I had tried fooling around with girls at that point, and it wasn’t bad, actually. I was very sure I was straight. I liked the girls I was with – had a real fondness for most of them, but it was never very deep. Momo and I even hooked up once.” Yuta laughed wryly as he watched a look of shock and, maybe jealousy? flicker over Taeyong’s face. “Don’t worry,” he reassured. “It was alright for me, but she made it very clear that it was never to happen again.”

Taeyong hummed thoughtfully. Yuta wanted to grill him back, but it looked like he had another question brewing, so he stayed quiet. “So, who was the first guy?”

Yuta breathed a laugh. “Well, he was actually my boss when I was a Kumi-in…”

Taeyong’s eyes lit up. “Like us?”

“Kind of. He was older though,” Yuta clarified. He smiled, both in recollection and in amusement as he registered the dissonance between Kate Bush’s wailing singing and their quiet conversation. “I remember thinking to myself, oh, now I know what this whole _thing_ is supposed to feel like.” By “thing” he meant to express the nebulous concept of attraction, love, relationships, lust; all those intangibles which tug at the heartstrings. He hoped Taeyong would understand despite his lack of eloquence. “He was the one who convinced me to go to the Alpha Inn the first time, but, uh, I was the one taking the orders back then.”

“What happened to him?” asked Taeyong, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands. 

“He decided this life wasn’t for him, so he left. And, you know, if you do that you get excommunicated, banished – whatever you want to call it – so I haven’t heard from him since.”

Taeyong looked like he wanted to say something, then didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead. 

The apology made a pang of guilt run through Yuta. Here he was telling the sob story of his first love in front of poor Taeyong. If he got uncomfortable hearing about Momo, why would he want to know this? “Don’t be sorry. I have you now,” Yuta said with a smile, and he meant it deeply. 

Taeyong sat up and sighed, eyes clouded over. “I just feel like this would be a lot easier if I wasn’t…you know…me.” 

Yuta felt like he had cold water rushing over his skin. _What was Taeyong getting at?_ “No, I don’t know,” he challenged. 

Taeyong refused to make eye contact and Yuta thought he saw the other man’s skin tone draining a bit grey. “I keep thinking about Johnny and Mina,” Taeyong tried to explain. “They seem so normal. Like, they know what each of them is there for. I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel like if I were a woman it’d be easier and make more sense. I wouldn’t be weirdly wrapped up in your work and having to make all these dire decisions and putting you in danger. We could just see each other like average people.”

Yuta didn’t know if he wanted to cry or laugh. He settled instead for gripping Taeyong’s chin with his fingers and forcing their eyes to meet. “Taeyong,” he said softly, “I think you’re missing the point.”

Taeyong’s eyes looked glassy. “Which is?”

“Which is that if you were a woman A) we probably wouldn’t have met in the first place, and B) I wouldn’t be as interested in you.” Yuta searched Taeyong’s face, awaiting a response. 

“You mean that?” he asked, finally.

Yuta let go of Taeyong’s face. “I do. Why would I be lying?”

Taeyong smiled slightly. “I dunno. Sometimes you lie for fun.”

“God, Taeyong, not about stuff like this.”

“Alright,” Taeyong said, letting his smile extend and settling his back more squarely into the couch cushions. “Sorry for being so insecure.”

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand. “You and me both, baby.”

“Houdini” started to play and Taeyong closed his eyes, mentioning absently that it was his favorite song on the album. When it was over, he spoke again.

“Mina warned me at the party,” he said, and Yuta was put on immediate alert by the threatening vagueness of the statement. “Back at Johnny’s bar, we started talking. She said I should leave as soon as possible and not get sucked in.”

Yuta stiffened, training his eyes on the stains in Taeyong’s rug and making a mental note to bring this up to Johnny. “Well,” he began, “that’s her opinion. It’s up to you to make up your own mind.”

“I know.”

Yuta laughed breathily, catching Taeyong’s drift. “So, she told you that and then you immediately turned around and landed in my lap; let me pull you in deeper. Was that a sort of decision?”

Taeyong nodded, squeezing Yuta’s hand. “Maybe. I just wanted it at the time. I wanted a real reason to stay.”

Yuta tutted. “I told you not to make me the clincher for such an important choice.”

“Yeah, but that was after,” Taeyong asserted. “I think I’d already decided early on, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Yuta?”

“Taeyong.”

He looked Yuta right in the eyes. “I’m going to stay. I invited you over tonight to tell you that I’m sure I want to join the Inagawa-kai. I just didn’t know how to bring it up until right now.”

Yuta could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, like he was a candle wick being sparked; like he was about to go on a mission. He was exhilarated at the idea that he’d fully gained Taeyong’s trust and admiration, that they would continue on as they had been; but at the same time, the possibility that Taeyong could get hurt or decide too late that he’d gone down the wrong path made Yuta’s blood run cold. 

“You’re sure?”

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah, I am.” He looked at Yuta and smiled sideways. “When do I get initiated?”

Yuta didn’t know how to respond to Taeyong’s sudden burst of self-assuredness. “Well – uh – the _Oyabun_ won’t let you until our current project is secured –”

Taeyong pouted. 

“But!” Yuta had an idea. “But, but, but, if you want, we can do something fun right now that might help.” Yuta stood, about to head off to the kitchen until he remembered he didn’t know where anything was.

“What is it?”

Yuta placed a finger in front of his mouth. “It’s a secret,” he whispered. “But I need you to help me find some things.”

In a matter of minutes, they were back in the living room, couched in silence with the music having run out and kneeling at either side of Taeyong’s coffee table. Between them, Yuta had set two empty _masu_ cups, a bottle of _amazake_ (since Taeyong didn’t have normal sake), and the knife that Yuta always carried around with him: medium-size and gunmetal grey with teeth like the one in the Rambo movie that had come out a year before. Taeyong had stared at it almost in horror when Yuta took it out. 

“Okay,” Taeyong said, eyes roaming over their spread. “Now will you please explain this to me?”

“Sure,” Yuta agreed, grinning at his own creativity. “So, you said you wanted to be initiated,” he began, “but you can’t technically do that for a bit, so I’m going to give you a little run-through; a rehearsal of sorts that can prepare you for the real thing while also making you feel more official right now.”

Taeyong nodded, looking sold. “Okay. What’s the knife for?”

“For when I sacrifice you to Amaterasu,” he deadpanned, and for a moment, Taeyong actually gaped. 

“No, I kid,” Yuta said, cracking himself up. “We’ll get to what the knife’s for in a second.”

Taeyong let out a confused breath, making Yuta laugh even harder. Once he had contained himself, he went on. 

“So, this will be the setup when you’re initiated. Ideally there’d be witnesses, but you know.” He shrugged. “Okay, and you should know that I am standing in for the _Oyabun_.”

“You’re Goro?” Taeyong clarified. 

Yuta nodded, pressing a hand to his chest. “Yes, I’m Goro, who I don’t think you’ve met yet, by the way.” Taeyong shook his head in confirmation. “Soon enough, then. You’re you, and what we’re going to do first is you’re going to hold out your cup to me and I’ll fill it halfway with sake.” 

Taeyong followed directions, prostrating himself ever so slightly as he offered Yuta his cup and watched him pour the cloudy liquid inside. Then, Yuta did the same with his own cup, passing the halfway point and filling it to the brim, images of his own initiation six years earlier flashing across his vision. He’d been a baby in an ill-fitting black suit and Goro had looked more imposing to him than usual – like Mt. Fuji on a clear day. He picked up the knife, remembering the sharp taste of Goro’s blood in a particularly strong batch of sake.

“Now we switch cups,” he instructed, and Taeyong obliged, eyes trained on Yuta’s knife. They went wide when Yuta positioned his hand over Taeyong’s sake and cradled the blade so that it was invisible in his palm, although the implied pressure and discomfort made Taeyong’s face contort. Yuta sliced shallowly into his palm, careful to adhere to the lines of his old scar as much as possible. Taeyong’s gaze followed as a ruby droplet fell and dispersed into the alcoholic liquid. 

“We could just get a raspberry or something if you have one and crush it into the other cup,” Yuta teased, “if you don’t want to do this.” He grinned when Taeyong shook his head quickly. 

“No, I can do it, _Shategashira_.” 

“Good.” Yuta wiped the blood from the knife onto a paper towel and handed the blade to Taeyong, who took it hesitantly. “Just do the pad of your thumb for now,” Yuta suggested. Taeyong hissed a bit as he cut into the flesh there and pressed down to force out a rivulet of blood. Yuta realized he’d made a slight oversight when he registered that each of them now had one bloodied hand. In the real ritual, this fact would have been ignored, but Yuta was already testing Taeyong and he didn’t want to also stain his nice bamboo cups. 

“Gimme a sec,” he said, finding his leather jacket in the entryway and rooting around in it one-handed for another thing he always kept with him: bandage tape. He called Taeyong into the kitchen and they took turns washing up and covering their self-inflicted wounds. Yuta registered neutrally the kind of hazy and quiet state Taeyong was in. Finally, they returned to the coffee table for the next leg of the ritual, starting off by switching their drinks back so Yuta had a full cup with Taeyong’s blood and Taeyong had a half cup with Yuta’s. 

“What now?” Taeyong asked. 

“Now,” Yuta answered, “you take the _seihai-gishiki_ ; the oath of allegiance to me, Hirai Goro.” They both laughed at that. “Repeat after me okay?”

“Okay.”

Yuta flexed his hand, still adjusting to the feeling of raw openness under the pink-tinged bandages. "I vow never to reveal the secrets of the organization.”

“I vow to never reveal the secrets of the organization.”

“I will never violate the wife or children of another member.”

Taeyong balked. “Wait, that’s kind of messed up,” he said, mouth poised to laugh. “Why is that there?”

“Aish,” said Yuta in mock disappointment, “good thing I’m running you through this – Goro would never accept this interrupting. Actually, the first ever yakuza clan in the 1700’s had a real problem with cheating and child molestation, so their boss had to make up this rule to stop it from turning into one giant super-illegal orgy,” he said matter-of-factly. Taeyong’s eyes went wide.

“Really??”

Yuta frowned. “No!! You need to stop being so gullible with everything I tell you.”

Taeyong bowed his head several times while laughing nervously. “Ah, okay, okay, _Shategashira_ . _Gomen_ , _gomen_. Got it.”

Yuta smiled. Taeyong was so damn cute it made his muscles hurt. “It’s okay,” he said. “In all seriousness, I have no idea why that rule is there, but it’s a reasonable expectation, anyway. Shall we move on?”

Taeyong nodded. 

“Okay,” Yuta restarted, “I vow to have no personal involvement with narcotics.”

“I vow to have no personal involvement with narcotics,” Taeyong repeated. 

“I will not withhold money from the gang.”

“I will not withhold money from the gang.”

“I will not fail in my obedience to superiors.”

Taeyong blinked forcefully and gulped before echoing, “I will not fail in my obedience to superiors.”

“Last one, okay? I will not appeal to the police or other legal authorities.”

“I will not appeal to the police or other legal authorities. Now what?”

Yuta picked up his cup with both hands. “Now we drink.”

Taeyong followed his lead. “ _Kanpai_.”

“ _Kanpai_.”

The taste of Taeyong’s blood was less harsh mixed in with this sweet type of sake, mellowed and drowned out until it was nothing more than a heady undertone, like the scent of skin.

They put down their cups once they had finished and stared at each other silently for a beat. Then Taeyong broke into a grin. “Did I pass?” he asked.

Yuta guffawed. “Pass? This isn’t an exam.” He cleared his throat and put on his Hirai Goro voice: gravelly and low and embellished by rolled r’s. “But uh, yes, well done, Kumi-in. Welcome to the Inagawa-kai.”

***

After the elaborate rehearsal, they had a bit of cleaning up to do. Taeyong rinsed their _masu_ cups in the sink as Yuta disinfected his knife and reinforced his bandages.

“The last vow reminded me,” said Taeyong, shutting the water off and setting the cups on the drying rack, “it only occurred to me after Johnny and Mina’s lesson the other day, but what if it’s not another gang that gets ahold of me? What if it’s the police? Wouldn’t they also interrogate me?”

Yuta burst out in laughter and Taeyong looked perplexed, leaning his lower back against the kitchen counter. 

“Oh, sorry for laughing at you,” Yuta said, collecting himself. “You’d have no way of knowing this.” He walked over to join Taeyong. “You don’t have to worry about the police,” he explained even if Taeyong looked dubious. “I mean, if we like, killed someone in a public alleyway, sure.” Taeyong’s eyes flickered in recollection. Yuta continued. “But if you’re just going about your business, they won’t dare take you in. Most of them like us anyway – like that we instill a little fear and discipline into public life, that we rake in local tax revenue and do charity work, etc. I mean they’re just as much thugs as we are, too, and I guarantee you in every ten cops you’d find at least three former wannabe gangsters. Anyway, sometimes we get busted by national law enforcement, but you rarely need to worry about the local police; they only get involved if you kill someone, as I mentioned; if public opinion is especially bad; or if someone comes to them directly with proof of wrongdoing.”

Taeyong nodded heavily, taking in this new information with a mixture of horror and relief. 

“I know. It can be a bit odd at first,” Yuta offered. “I imagine as a former street kid you’re not used to that kind of free reign.”

Taeyong shook his head. “Yeah, m’not,” he confirmed. “I used to get the cops called on me for standing wrong.” 

Yuta hummed a chuckle. He didn’t doubt it. His face hovered closer to Taeyong’s, drinking him in, and he paused over the scar next to Taeyong’s eye. He still had never asked about it, so he did.

“Oh, this?” Taeyong said, pointing to the pitted skin. He demurred a bit, embarrassed, and Yuta suddenly felt bad for asking. “It’s not very interesting. I used to have atopic dermatitis and I picked at my skin a bit too much when I got a flare up there.”

“I see,” Yuta said. “Sounds irritating.”

“It was,” confirmed Taeyong. “Did you have a theory about how I got it?”

“I didn’t but Doyoung did,” said Yuta. “He figured you’d gotten it in a fight or something like that. I didn’t really know.” 

Yuta thought he saw a shiver buzz up Taeyong’s body. “Do you guys talk about me often when I’m not there?”

Yuta laughed. “Only at the beginning,” He admitted, settling his elbows back on the countertop. “You were kind of mysterious to us.”

Taeyong looked shocked. “Me? Mysterious? Alright…”

“Well you showed up out of nowhere,” Yuta asserted. “In fact, I got asked on separate occasions by Jungwoo and Jaehyun how I was sure you weren’t a spy.”

Taeyong spluttered. “A spy? That’s too wild.”

Yuta only shrugged. If he was being honest, Taeyong was still a little mysterious to him. He still wanted to turn Taeyong’s earlier questions about sexual awakenings and such back on him, but that could wait. Taeyong pushed away from the counter and shifted so he was facing Yuta, his hands on Yuta’s shoulders. 

“Want to dance?” he asked coyly. “Just like after Johnny’s party?”

Yuta slipped his arms around Taeyong’s waist. “How could I say no to that?” he teased, and they plodded like that back into the living room. Yuta let Taeyong go momentarily to put on “Three Imaginary Boys” by The Cure, scooping him back up the second the music began. Taeyong laid his head on Yuta’s shoulder and murmured into the base of his neck.

“I can’t wait to help you destress, sir.”

Yuta petted Taeyong’s soft hair with his bandaged hand and hummed. “You’re too perfect,” he said, and he meant it deeply. 


	9. Week V pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another very long chapter. I would say definitely heed the violence, BDSM, and homophobia tags for this one lol.  
> Also I def tagged this story “light BDSM” but like, idk my “light” could be someone else’s hard-core or weak-sauce. But there’s nothing too crazy and Yuta is a very soft dom, so. That’s all just to say, read the smut scene at your own discretion if that’s not your thing.  
> Happy reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Japanese (new words this chapter only!):  
> Shou sugi ban - technique of charring wood for aesthetic effect  
> Onsen - hot spring  
> Moshi moshi - "hello" specific to phone calls

Taeyong bit the nails on his left hand, peering out the thin slice of pebbled window next to Sana’s front door. This was the most real his life had felt since he shot the Yamaguchi assassin in the knee in the alley off Ameyokochō. He felt everything vividly, but he also felt like a veritable scumbag. He held his gun the way he’d seen spies do it in movies: right arm cocked at a ninety-degree angle and barrel pointed at the ceiling. Sana’s house – or more accurately, the house Mr. Miyazaki had bought for her and where she was being kept by the Yamaguchi-gumi – was as tasteful inside as out, with pine floors, furniture in rich jewel tones, and original artwork scattered about. Taeyong would have liked to explore it; see how the other half lives; but that was not why he was there. He was there to keep guard while Yuta and Doyoung did things that made him deeply uncomfortable to witness. Thankfully, he had an excuse to avert his gaze out the window. 

Doyoung was crouched on the floor, leather boots dirtying a vintage Chinese rug and knee propped against Sana’s back. He had his hand over her mouth and she struggled against it, bugging her eyes out and rolling her neck to try to break free. Yuta paced in front of them. 

Getting inside had gone according to plan at first. Jungwoo, the designated getaway driver, knocked out the Yamaguchi guard on the other side of the street with a drugged handkerchief, and they broke into the house after working together to lock the unconscious lookout into the trunk of Yuta’s car. Once inside though, Sana had seen them and started rummaging around in a drawer for what the three men could only assume – rightly, they eventually found – was a gun. They hadn’t planned to be overly physical with her, but what else were they supposed to do? 

Yuta stopped pacing and squatted in front of Sana. She shrieked and squirmed more violently against Doyoung, who managed to keep his face dispassionate. He grabbed her hand in one of his and pressed his flattened fingers against hers so they were bending backwards at an uncomfortably unnatural angle. She let out a small yelp and Taeyong averted his gaze once more. From his short time with the yakuza he’d already learned what injury would befall her hands without intervention. 

“Doyoung, that’s enough,” Yuta chided, and Taeyong heard what he assumed was the sound of Sana’s arm dropping to the ground. 

There was still nothing suspicious outside, but they’d need to get this done quickly so the man in their trunk wouldn’t wake up and force Jungwoo to resort to something more drastic than drugging. 

The sound of commotion startled Taeyong and he turned back around. Sana was trying to get free from Doyoung’s grip and launch herself at Yuta, but Doyoung managed to wrestle her back under his control. Yuta stood, shocked to his feet. 

“I hate to do this to you, Minatozaki-san,” he began, regaining his composure, “I hope you don’t hold it against us that we surprised you like this. We’re not going to hurt you though; I can promise you that much. Doyoung, let her speak.” 

Doyoung removed the hand he had wrapped over the lower part of Sana’s face. 

“Fuck you!” she spat immediately. “How can I trust anything you say? Just because you people keep using me doesn’t mean I’m naïve.” 

Yuta laughed ruefully. Taeyong got the sense this mission was a test for Yuta in more ways than one. Even his dragging breaths made him sound like he wished he could be anywhere else. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to right now, Sana?” he asked. 

Sana’s face contorted in confusion for a moment as her eyes boomeranged between Yuta’s face and the Inagawa-kai pin on his lapel. Confusion turned to realization. 

“You’re not Yamaguchi…are you?” she hazarded, and Taeyong thought he saw her relax just the slightest bit out of his peripheral vision, even if she was still shaking. “Who are you?” 

Yuta smiled in that overwhelming way of his. “I’m Nakamoto Yuta, _Shategashira_ , 15th _Tora_ Regiment, Inagawa-kai. These are my associates,” he said, “Now, I’m going to need you to trust us.” 

***

Yuta and Doyoung had explained to Sana what was going on, that the Inagawa-kai was trying to get into the same Mitsubishi meeting as the Yamaguchi-gumi – that they had initiated it, in fact, and that Yamaguchi were using Sana to get into the meeting so they could sabotage Inagawa’s deal. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Yuta had said, so they should be on each other’s side. All she had to do was tell Miyazaki they were both being used. 

“Well,” Sana had figured, finally calm and trusting enough to sit unencumbered on her couch, “I supposed you lot can’t be worse than the assholes I’m already tangled up with. I’m going to choose to trust you, but if you double cross me, I won’t hesitate to do the same and sick the entire force of the Yamaguchi-gumi on you.” 

Yuta’s whole face had lit up in satisfaction. “That’s only fair.” 

Now, Taeyong found himself for the first time in Hirai Goro’s mansion, in a room with _shou sugi ban_ walls, a large fireplace, and a low lacquered table in a sunken alcove where he sat with a collection of other Inagawa operatives. Sana, Ten, Kun, Sicheng, Jungwoo, and Doyoung were at the table while Yuta, Johnny, and Yukhei stood. Yukhei flattened himself against the wall by the door in his usual guard stance and Yuta paced, speaking with Johnny in hushed tones and allowing interruptions intermittently when Sana’s former Yamaguchi guard, who lay on the floor in the corner, disoriented, would try to advocate for his wellbeing and in doing so, invite a kick in the gut from Johnny. A cloak of nervous anticipation settled over the room, manifesting in closed-off expressions from everyone save Ten, who was smirking. Taeyong felt himself reeling in the low light, the continually escalating intensity of his situation and their plan catapulting him into hyper-awareness while the memory of what had occurred in the adjoining building not even two weeks earlier threatened to pull him under. 

The tension broke as the door opened, and a new one took its place when Hirai Goro walked inside. Everyone stood at once, save the captive on the floor; all he could manage was to spit up on himself a bit in protest. 

A greeting of “ _Oyabun!_ ” rang out uniformly. 

“At ease.” Everyone at the table went back to sitting. 

It occurred to Taeyong that this was his first time seeing the illustrious Hirai-san. He was about Yuta’s height when he walked in, but much larger otherwise in the way that middle-aged men often are. His dark hair was creeping up his forehead into baldness, and he’d chosen to let it grow out and overwhelm it with grease in compensation. He held a porkpie hat against his chest in greeting and wore a black suit with a gold brocade scarf and a big Inagawa-kai lapel pin. He stood at the center of the room, scaring the shit out of Taeyong and boring his gaze into the side of Sana’s head. She swallowed. 

“ _Oyabun_ ,” Doyoung began. “This is Minatozaki Sana; the girl we’ve discussed with you.” 

Sana stood again, bowing as Goro made his way to her. “I’m humbled to be here,” she said, voice a bit terse at the formality. Taeyong still felt guilty for the way they had treated her initially, but he supposed it had been self-defense, hadn’t it? Anyway, he could see right through her tone. It was a survival tactic rather than a sign of respect. 

“We welcome you, my dear,” said Goro. “I hope my men haven’t been too rough with you.” 

Taeyong saw Sana’s eyes flicker to Yuta for a millisecond. “Less so than expected,” she said. 

“I’m glad.” Goro made his way to the other side of the room and settled into a leather armchair, preparing to hold court, it seemed. “Now, Yuta tells me you’ve agreed to our deal. Is that so?” 

Sana nodded, hands clasped in front of her. “It is,” she said. “You should know that I don’t quite trust any of you, but Nakamoto-san argued compellingly that I have no real choice but to go along with you. The worst-case scenario if I do is likely no worse than my current predicament, and the best-case scenario is a marked improvement, so I will do whatever you need me to. You can take my word because I have nothing to lose.” 

Goro nodded slowly. “I don’t blame you for not trusting us; I think your response is quite logical. Listen, I’m just happy you’ve decided to cooperate. Johnny?”

Johnny stiffened to attention. “Yes, _Oyabun_?” 

“Would you mind briefing Sana-chan on her role in the _Sokaiya_?” 

Sana twitched in irritation at the diminutive, but if Goro noticed, he didn’t let on. Johnny cleared his throat as Sana made the executive decision to allow herself to sit back down. 

“So, Minatozaki-san,” he began, “we’re going to guide you through this, but here’s the basic plan: Tonight, you’ll get in contact with Miyazaki-san, and we’re going to feed you a script telling him the truth.” 

“Which is?” Sana challenged, raising an eyebrow. 

“Which is,” Doyoung interjected coolly, and Sana had to whip her head around to see him speak, “that you have been used to put him in a vulnerable position; that the Yamaguchi-gumi is manipulating him through you for money, and that they’ll use you as a pawn to blackmail him and let them into the meeting, then to extort the largest deal possible out of the head brass.” 

Sana turned back around to face Johnny. “And I’m not to mention my involvement with any of you, I presume?” 

Johnny smirked, pushing his bangs off his face. “Of course not,” he confirmed. “But you are going to warn him that if he allows the Yamaguchi delegation into the meeting, he’ll be making the mistake of his life – a potentially fatal one, even. If that all goes well, meaning he believes you and agrees to barre our rivals, we promise to pay for your relocation and protection, no other strings attached.” 

A contemplative expression travelled across Sana’s face like a pinball. “No strings attached, hm? And if it doesn’t go well?” 

Johnny crossed his arms. “Well then, like you said, it can’t be worse for you than it already is.” 

Goro took back control of the conversation. “Does that sound like something you can handle?” he asked, and Sana nodded. 

“I already agreed,” she said, “and my consent still stands, whether the lot of you would have cared or not.” 

About half the room snickered at that. Taeyong did not. Not only did he find the behavior off-putting, but he felt too implicated in the conversation at hand. So much hinged on this deal for him, too. He knew that if he left now, with all the information he had, it wouldn’t be long before a former friend was tracking him down to kill him, and he didn’t begrudge anyone that fact. Still, it made him feel peculiar that he was now participating in a scheme to put someone else in that same situation. Not to mention the tightness in his chest at the realization that he, too, had never truly been told what would happen to him if he failed. People were talking again, but he drowned it out in the thick insulation of internal turmoil. His eyes found Yuta’s from across the room, and the other man raised his brows, a question. _You okay?_ Taeyong nodded, smiling weakly and pulling himself back into reality.

“We’ve come to the conclusion that the leak is from somewhere within the _Sokaiya_ ,” Kun was saying, “No one else could have had the intelligence. Although from which regiment is unclear.” Taeyong’s memory snapped back to waiting for Kun and Yuta in Yuta’s office, when he’d felt like a child sitting in on his parents talking about something grave and unfit for him. 

Kun indicated to Yuta, who picked up where he had left off. “I have assured Kun that I’ll look into it –”

“Why haven’t you already?” Goro interrupted. 

“I – because, sir, I’m waiting to hear from the Lieutenant of the 20th regiment. Adachi-san has reason to suspect it might have come from his ranks.” 

“That’s fine for him,” Goro said, tone that of a disappointed father, “but it doesn’t pertain to you nor to the potential culpability of your men. I’d like you to look into it sooner rather than later.” 

Yuta bowed, face and voice pinched. “Yes, _Oyabun_.” When he was upright again, his eyes landed back on Taeyong and Taeyong felt himself shiver at the starkness of his gaze. Did Yuta suspect him? Surely, he didn’t, but perhaps he worried others might. 

When Taeyong regained his composure, he realized that Goro, too, was looking at him. 

“How rude of me,” he began, a jovial quality appearing in his nascent smile. Taeyong wondered what he was talking about. “I’ve been so wrapped up in this new development, I neglected to realize there was another new conspirator in the room.” Goro turned back to Yuta as Taeyong grasped that they were talking about him. “This is your new man, hm, Yuta?” 

Yuta coughed in what appeared to be an attempt not to choke. Taeyong knew Goro hadn’t meant it like that, but he sort of wished that he had.

“Yes, _Oyabun_ , this is Lee Taeyong, the accidental recruit I was telling you about. I’ve had him shadowing me as a lookout so he can get a feel for this work.” 

Goro turned back to Taeyong and Taeyong figured this was his cue to make an introduction. 

“ _Oyabun_ ,” he began with a bow and a salute, “I am honored to finally meet you. I promise to try my best for your organization. I humbly receive your care, sir.” 

“I’m happy to finally meet you as well, Taeyong,” said Goro.

“Taeyong has expressed interest in joining permanently when his mission is completed,” Yuta explained, somewhat breathless. “Assuming all goes well.” 

_Permanently…_

Goro’s eyes tracked between Yuta and Taeyong, from one side of the room to the other, as Taeyong tried to suppress the flush he felt blossoming in his cheeks. Goro looked at him sideways. 

“Well,” he said, “if Yuta’s endorsement is anything to go on, we would be lucky to have you.” Taeyong thanked him and bowed again. Still, there was something about Goro’s expression that gave Taeyong pause: it had a distance to it, like he was trying to size him up. 

Before Taeyong could put a finger on his discomfort, the Yamaguchi captive in the corner stirred and emitted a noise not unlike that of a wounded dog, and thusly commanded the contemptuous attention of the entire room. 

“A Yamaguchi operative?” Goro guessed, indicating towards the floor-dirtied man, and Jungwoo stood to confirm the query.

“Yes, _Oyabun_! He was assigned to stand watch over Sana’s house, so we had to take him out before we could break in. We think they beefed up security in preparation for next week, not to mention they might have gotten reports that we were staking out the neighborhood.” 

Taeyong watched a wave of recognition wash over Sana’s face; about what he had no clue. 

Yukhei bounced his wide back slightly against the wall next to the door, directing his gaze towards the struggling Yamaguchi-gumi guard. The man didn’t have any visible injuries, considering most of the places he’d been kicked were hidden under clothing, but his suffering was evident from the glazed look in his eyes and the palm-sized puddle of viscous blood he’d coughed up after one of Johnny’s metal-toed boots to the stomach. 

“Poor guy,” Yukhei mused. “Their first mistake was putting him out on duty alone.” 

“Xuxi,” Ten hissed, “what have I said about speaking out of turn?” 

Yukhei put up both hands in surrender and settled back against the wall as Goro chuckled at the interaction and Kun sent Ten a warning look. Ten collected himself, seeming embarrassed in a way Taeyong could never have pictured based on their initial interactions. 

“Excuse me,” he said to no one in particular as Sicheng allowed himself the smallest giggle at his expense. 

“Quite alright,” said Goro. “Nothing wrong with a bit of spark. Do you have a plan for the captive though?” 

Jungwoo, who was still standing from his earlier explanation, looked around the room, unsure. “Um, well – Yuta?” he deferred, then sat back down at the shiny table. 

Yuta acted a bit startled. “Oh, yes,” he began, turning towards the captive in question. He was fully awake now, trying to pull himself to a seated position against the wall and scowling wickedly at the way everyone was talking about him. He coughed. “We don’t know his rank yet, so he could be completely out of the loop, but I think an interrogation makes sense since we have him; just in case. Does that have your approval, _Oyabun_?” 

Goro shrugged and the Yamaguchi captive shot him a glare so vicious, Taeyong almost couldn’t tell it was tinged by mortal fear. 

“Do whatever you want with him,” said Goro, “as long as it could put us in a better position for next week. And I know this isn’t your cup of tea, Yuta, so Johnny and Ten can take the lead.” 

The two men in question made eye contact. “Yes, sir!” they both said, then made their way to their victim, who was finally gaining back enough energy to protest. 

“Oi, what do you think you’re doing?” he yelled, pushing himself into the corner and splaying his arms out over the wall. “I don’t know anything about what you all are saying!” 

Johnny dodged a kick attempt from the man and went in to grab his arm while Ten reached for the other. “We’ll be the judge of that,” he said calmly and Ten added, 

“The more you struggle, the worse this is gonna be.” 

Johnny and Ten managed to drag the man out of the room, careening ever so slightly every time he mounted a struggle and yelled about what the payback would be if his bosses found out he’d gotten hurt. Taeyong felt a hollow horror brewing in his stomach at the spectacle; at the idea that the man could be a stand-in for himself if things went wrong, or worse – for Yuta. Taeyong didn’t know how he would act if either of those scenarios came to pass. Still, the vulnerability of that thought mixed with the god complex he could imagine himself developing as part of an organization that inflicts such terror rendered a sickening potion. He blinked heavily, eyes landing back on an oblivious Yuta as the Yamaguchi guard’s screams got eaten up by distance. 

“ _Yoshi_ ,” Goro began once calm was restored, “Kun,” 

“Yes sir?” 

“Would you mind if I asked Sicheng and Yukhei to escort Ms. Minatozaki to her new safehouse?” 

Kun gave a small bow of approval. “Absolutely not. Sicheng, Yukhei, you know where to go.” 

The two men converged around Sana, who seemed still to be recovering from the earlier commotion, looking at each other and hesitating before each placing a hand on one of her shoulders so lightly that they almost didn’t appear to be touching her. 

“You are all dismissed,” said Goro, and at that, everyone was on their feet (if they weren’t already), bowing, and excusing themselves. Everyone, that is, “except Yuta,” Goro continued. Yuta looked at his boss in surprise. “I want you to stay a minute.” 

“Yes, _Oyabun_.” 

Taeyong caught Yuta’s eye as he trailed behind Sicheng, Sana, and Yukhei on his way out, and Yuta offered him a sunny smile and a little wink. _Must not be serious_. Taeyong let himself breathe. 

“You’ve finally met your boss-man,” Yukhei said as Taeyong fell in line with the other three in the hallway. 

“At long last,” Taeyong said. 

“He lacks just as much charm as Yamaguchi’s _Oyabun_ ,” mumbled Sana, and since her companions were either unofficial employees or fully members of another syndicate, they allowed themselves to laugh rather than get offended on Goro’s behalf. 

“What do you think he needs to talk to Yuta for?” Taeyong asked after a moment, trying not to sound too emotionally invested in his own question. 

“I’d imagine it’s something sensitive that we’re not supposed to guess,” Sicheng replied obviously. “If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about it. If you let yourself get caught up on every little thing in this line of work, you’ll surely go insane.” 

***

Despite Sicheng’s advice, Taeyong did ask later. 

“He just wanted to talk about the leak,” Yuta had explained, “to scold me again for not handling it more quickly.” 

_Does anyone think it’s me?_ Taeyong wanted to ask, but he didn’t. He knew he was going against the very request he had made that they be upfront with each other, but he didn’t know if he could handle if the answer was yes. It was okay, he had assured himself, if he was in danger, Yuta would tell him.

As a day passed with no news concerning him or the leak though, Taeyong let his worries fall by the wayside, focusing instead on staying out of trouble and counting down the hours and minutes to the night he and Yuta had picked for their stay at the Alpha Inn. 

Yuta called a taxi for them, wanting to be very careful they wouldn’t be tailed in his car and unwilling to trust the subway any longer after doing so almost got them both killed weeks earlier. He was giddy at the opportunity to destress, fidgeting in the back seat of the cab as it drifted through Roppongi, and Taeyong was giddy too at the idea of having a kind of fun he hadn’t indulged in a while. Yuta looked like a prince, wearing slim black trousers and a white, billowy button-up, his tattoos peeking out of the collar; and Taeyong wore jeans and a pale pink polo shirt. They had decided together that they should dress as preppily as possible to look like whatever the opposite of a couple heading to a BDSM love hotel would be. 

Elvis Costello’s “Beyond Belief” played softly from the speakers, and Taeyong’s expectant mind latched onto the way the melody wove in and around itself, keeping his interest piqued and his fingers tapping against the fake wood of the cab’s interior. 

The driver let them out a block away, and Taeyong trailed after Yuta for the one-minute walk which completed the journey, his gaze locked onto the leather bowling bag full of “goodies” Yuta was swinging softly with each step. Sure, the Alpha Inn had equipment at the patrons’ disposal, but Yuta and Taeyong both felt there was something slightly unsexy about that, frankly, not to mention that Yuta just preferred working with things he found more familiar. 

Just as Taeyong remembered, the hotel appeared as an average, grey apartment building on the outside. The lobby wasn’t very scandalous either save the thick screen between most of the desk clerk’s upper body and the guests as they selected a room – a courtesy to preserve anonymity. 

They chose the “cabin room,” one of the few left available and one of the tamest on offer. Taeyong followed Yuta up the cramped stairs to the door. He clung to the soft excess fabric on the back of Yuta’s shirt the whole way there, causing them occasionally to trip over each other’s feet and giggle like a couple of teenagers about to lose their virginities. 

The cabin room’s décor, like that of most love hotels, was equal parts kinky and outdatedly eclectic. The walls were made of the type of rustic stone you might expect of a woodsy home’s chimney (is that why it’s called the “cabin room?” Taeyong wondered to himself upon entry), and at the far end of it there was a bed with gold upholstery and a large mirror. The only things betraying the character of this particular love hotel – save the generally skeezy atmosphere and lack of windows upsetting Taeyong’s sense of time – were the hooks embedded in the ceiling for suspension bondage, and a black pleather furnishing resembling a massage table ringed by a wall of whip-adjacent paraphernalia. The table’s cold lack of frills sent a chill throbbing through Taeyong’s entire body. He’d be sure they made good use of _that._

Yuta allowed himself to fully enter the space and did a slow turn, taking it all in. Once he’d completed his survey, he stilled facing Taeyong, a near disconcerting smile gracing his features. 

“I like this place,” he stated, “it’s gross.” 

Taeyong didn’t know what to do but laugh. He decided now was as good a time as any to turn on whatever it was that made it easy for him to find someone to go home with; whatever it was that made him irresistible. He took a few of his most confident strides towards Yuta who, upon his arrival, reached out to pop the candy-floss-pink collar on Taeyong’s shirt, smiling absently at the action. 

“Do you wanna explore a little?” Taeyong proposed, pupils drifting into the corners of his eyes in an attempt to register every corner of the space. “These rooms tend to have hidden gems.” 

Yuta’s hands wandered down to Taeyong’s chest, occasionally scratching at the gritty knit pattern of the polo. He made heavy eye contact and Taeyong felt his breath catch on it’s way out, the first tendrils of fuzzy suggestibility threatening to pull him under fast. 

“Unless you mean explore you,” Yuta said, “that’s not what I’m paying for.” 

_So much for fuzzy_ …Taeyong groaned. “What did I tell you about being corny?” he complained. 

Yuta inched closer, a laugh interrupting his defense. “To be fair, you – you never said you didn’t like it.” 

And before Taeyong could come up with something else smart to say, Yuta was kissing him, hard, knocking him a few steps back. 

Since this was their first time really trying something like this together, they’d planned ahead of time an outline of what they wanted to try that night: everything from limits to the stoplight system for safe words. The plan was simultaneously specific enough and just vague enough to have Taeyong’s head already spinning in anticipation. 

Yuta pulled away and took a step back, gaze dragging over Taeyong who stood fidgeting in the middle of the room. He tilted his head to the side. 

“Baby,” he mused, “strip for me?” 

“Yes sir.” Taeyong started at his clothing, feeling like he was right back in Yuta’s room the first time they slept together when Yuta had surprised him by standing back and watching him undress rather than impatiently pawing the garments off through a kiss like most guys would. 

Taeyong shifted his weight a little from one foot to the other, skin feeling prickly in the room’s stagnant air, and took a deep breath to center himself. He wanted to be good for Yuta – wanted to make sure all Yuta needed to think about was blowing off some steam before the biggest meeting of his life. 

“Good boy,” Yuta praised, eyes drifting over where Taeyong’s dick wobbled a little, not aroused enough to do much else. 

Taeyong watched as Yuta turned around and rummaged in the Japan Airlines bowler bag he’d brought. When his hand emerged clutching a thin gold rope, all the blood in Taeyong’s veins rushed either up or down, leaving his stomach feeling hollow and his head faint. Yuta approached him, winding the rope around in his hand precisely, then paused when he was close enough to rest his arms on Taeyong’s shoulders. Once he’d done that, he tilted his head down so he was looking up into Taeyong’s eyes and nestled in a bit closer until Taeyong’s cock brushed against his pants leg. Taeyong closed his eyes and let out a pained sound at the contact. 

Yuta tugged at the back of Taeyong hair with his free hand. “Eyes on me, darling,” he cooed, and Taeyong opened them, sure they were growing glassier by the minute. “I’ll never get sick of seeing you like this, baby,” continued Yuta, hands skimming over Taeyong’s bare neck, shoulders, and arms and pausing to tap at his fingertips. “You’re absolutely gorgeous. Pliant for me. Isn’t that right?” 

Taeyong knew what Yuta had just said about eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift them from the floor. “Thank you, sir. I hope so,” he nearly whispered. 

Yuta lifted Taeyong’s gaze with a hand against his chin. “Color?” 

Taeyong’s expression melted. “Green, sir.” 

“Perfect. I need somewhere for you to be while I tie you up,” Yuta explained. “Do you want the bed or the table?” 

Taeyong looked at the table over Yuta’s right shoulder. His brain wasn’t quite there yet. 

“Bed,” he said, and Yuta nodded in approval. 

“Well then, come with me.” 

This time it was Taeyong’s turn to sit cross-legged on a bed and let Yuta tend to him. Except now he was being tied up rather than unwrapped. He sat as still as he could, facing the mirror on the wall so he could watch all of Yuta’s ministrations and follow the progression of the knots. Taeyong had been restrained in any number of ways before, but surprisingly never in the shibari style, probably because he’d never been with anyone patient enough to do it well. 

Yuta stood on his knees on the bed, weight dipping the soft mattress so Taeyong tipped just slightly to his left. He was still fully clothed, and he furrowed his brow cutely, measuring out the metallic rope and pinching it at the halfway point. Taeyong’s eyes fluttered between Yuta’s face and his back in the mirror on the wall across from them. He kept eye contact with himself in the mirror as he let Yuta place the rope around the nape of his neck and tie an overhand knot there. Yuta paused and set his hands on Taeyong’s shoulders and his chin on Taeyong’s head, looking at their reflection. 

“What are you thinking about?” Taeyong asked. 

Yuta breathed a laugh as he shuffled around to Taeyong’s front, obscuring his view. 

“That’s rated 19+” he said, tying another knot over Taeyong’s sternum. 

“He says to the twenty-four-year-old he’s tying up…” Taeyong quipped. 

“Mm-hm.” Yuta stopped working for a millisecond to plant a quick kiss to Taeyong’s forehead. Taeyong’s heart fluttered and he laughed at himself internally. Here he was about to get his brains fucked out and he still found it in him to get worked up over a forehead kiss. 

“Okay, sir, whatever you say.” 

Taeyong looked down at his chest, where Yuta’s last full knot sat sparkling against his skin and making him feel like a present to be unwrapped. He gestured to the area. 

“This is where I want to start the tattoos,” he said. 

Yuta cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so? You know that’s a particularly painful place to do it?” 

Taeyong shrugged slightly, careful not to mess with Yuta’s work. He was in the middle of tying the rope over Taeyong’s navel. “I’m sure I could handle it. I just think that would be really badass. I always wanted a tattoo there.” 

“Why didn’t you get one, then?” 

“Because my family spent my whole childhood scaring me out of it. Said everyone would think I was a hardened criminal. But, you know, now it doesn’t really make a difference. I like being able to go to _onsen_ without putting bandages on, though.” 

Yuta sighed and came to sit facing Taeyong, pulling the ends of the rope out and tying yet another knot. 

“Can you stand on your knees for me?” he asked. 

“Yes sir.” 

Yuta leaned forward and ran his hands over Taeyong’s exposed skin, starting with his nipples before leaning in further to press kisses to Taeyong’s collar bones. He sucked a love bite into one of them as Taeyong hissed, slipping the knot under Taeyong’s balls and shifting back behind him to pull the ends of the rope between Taeyong’s legs. He threaded them through the loop he’d left at the nape of Taeyong’s neck and then kissed again next to it. 

Taeyong started humming to himself, the melody to “Beyond Belief” floating back into his hazy mind. It was so soothing to be tended to this way, watching Yuta’s focused movements and feeling the bed rise and sink around him. 

“What are you singing?” Yuta asked. He couldn’t see what was happening behind him, but Taeyong felt that Yuta was mirroring what he’d done with the rope over Taeyong’s front in back. 

“Just the song from the taxi.” 

Yuta made a noise of recognition as he surprised Taeyong by pulling the ropes around and under his armpits. Taeyong thought to himself that Yuta seemed a bit subdued. He figured it was due to a cocktail of concentration and repressed anxiety. Besides, sometimes Yuta was a little quiet when he was getting into dom mode; he would likely come out of his shell over the course of the night and be back to his chaotic self. Taeyong couldn’t wait. 

Before he could even process how it happened, which was frankly not surprising given the mental state he was in, Taeyong found he had a string of diamond-shaped knots down his front. He stared at himself in the mirror, transfixed. He had no sense of time anymore and was stuck in a torturous half-hard limbo state of arousal but damn, he looked good. 

“Holy shit,” he uttered, “I’m so impressed, sir.” 

“You like it?” Yuta asked, crazed smile back in full force. “I was worried I might have forgotten how to do it. Can you kneel for me, babydoll?” 

Taeyong swooned at the pet name. _This is going to be a long night_ … He followed Yuta’s directions and shifted to his knees, letting Yuta use the seemingly endless rope to restrain his legs. _Fuck_. He felt a dizzying rush of blood bloom in his chest, and sure enough, his mirrored self was redder than a strawberry. His dick twitched at the image. Whether Yuta noticed or not, he appeared oblivious to most of what he was doing to poor Taeyong. 

“Shift forward and test that for me, will you?” 

Taeyong again did what he was asked to, standing up on his knees, and found he was unable to extend his leg fully down, so all his weight on his right side was fixed on his kneecap. He silently thanked himself for having chosen to do this on the cushy bed. 

Yuta hummed his approval. “Perfect. Is that uncomfortable? Does it feel tight or like it’s going to rub on your skin a lot?” 

Taeyong pulled experimentally at the ropes a couple more times, feeling it out. The woven material was a bit gritty against his ankle, but nothing he couldn’t handle, and it was fitted perfectly; not too loose nor too tight. He told Yuta as much. 

“Wonderful. Just have to do the other leg and then we’re done, okay baby?” 

Taeyong sighed. “Okay.” 

“I appreciate how good you’ve been, Yonggie,” Yuta began as he went to work on Taeyong’s left leg. He smirked. “This must be frustrating for you, hm?” 

Taeyong could honestly say that it wasn’t. Sure, under most circumstances he would have wanted Yuta to bend him over and fuck him up a long time ago, but he knew what he was getting into from the beginning and Yuta had him strung out so far beyond any kind of need for immediate gratification. He liked just feeling cared for. 

“Not really, actually,” he answered honestly. “Not that I’m not looking forward to the rest of the night,” he added, remembering that doms sometimes do weird shit like threaten to leave him tied up and wanting. “You must be a little frustrated though, sir.” 

Yuta chuckled as he instructed Taeyong to test the last knot. It was also workable. 

“I’m just fine,” he said, drinking in Taeyong’s reflection, “not that your pretty body all tied up like this isn’t turning me on.” Yuta winked. _He fucking winked!_ And Taeyong almost doubled over at his cornball antics. Yuta flopped back on the bed, apparently set on flaunting just how much mobility he could exert. 

“Done!” 

Taeyong shifted himself from side to side using his arms and the little bit of free movement his legs would allow him. He wanted to see how the glittering gold rope sat on his skin from all angles and when he did, he felt his brain going even deeper into its happy trance. He wasn’t sure how he’d ever get over this. 

“How do you want me now, sir?” he asked, still admiring Yuta’s handiwork. 

Yuta rolled onto his side to look into the mirror too. “Let me handle that. Just give me a minute to take in my beautiful boy.” 

There was the blush again. _God_. Yuta smiled at Taeyong’s reaction. 

“And!” he began, “if you don’t like it and I need to get you out of this in under, uh, however many minutes that just took, I have my knife with me to cut you out. So, don’t fret!” 

“I wasn’t,” said Taeyong with a laugh. He had to suppress a shudder as a thought flashed into his mind. He didn’t know what depths it came from, but it was one of those thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having. It was of Yuta fucking him with that knife between his teeth. _Calm down_ , Taeyong scolded himself, _are you insane?_

“Care to share, baby?” Yuta asked, amusement plastered all over his expression. 

Taeyong went even redder, if that was possible. “It’s rated 19+!” he blurted. 

Yuta laughed, getting up off the bed. “Guess that’s only fair.” 

Before Taeyong could think to be mortified, Yuta was scooping him up and hauling him over his shoulder. Taeyong laughed at how much difficulty Yuta had with the action. He usually slept with men who were bigger than him, but Yuta was only an inch taller and not the largest guy himself, and Taeyong doubted he had fully thought this through. Taeyong laughed as Yuta set him down on his back on the black pleather table on the other side of the room, huffing from the exertion. He didn’t even have to say anything for Yuta to start pouting. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, shut up,” Yuta said. 

“Sorry sir.” 

“Is the table okay for you now?” 

“Of course.” 

“Color?” 

“Green.” 

“Color if I want to be rough with you now?” 

Taeyong felt like every particle in the room had frozen in space at the change in Yuta’s tone, gaze, entire being. He wanted to sing the word green to him over and over again, but instead, he said it once with as much assuredness as he could muster under Yuta’s heavy gaze. Yuta’s lips twitched into a smirk for just a moment. Taeyong noticed the bulge starting to form against his pants. 

“Can you get onto your hands and knees by yourself or do you need help?” Yuta asked. 

“I can do it.” 

“Good boy.” 

Taeyong managed to struggle into the position, and as far as he could tell, Yuta just stood and watched him do it. Taeyong’s wrists and knees were cushioned by the pad of the table, but the hard surface underneath was noticeable enough he figured he would get uncomfortable if left like that for a long time – especially with his feet tied up by his ass concentrating the weight his knees had to support. 

Yuta came around to his side and petted a hand over the swell of his ass and thighs, swatting experimentally. 

“So, you’re gonna hit me now, sir?” Taeyong ventured. 

When they had talked about this particular aspect ahead of time, Yuta had been a little shy about it at first. You don’t mind it? He’d asked. Taeyong told him of course he didn’t, then asked if it would help Yuta destress and feel better. I feel like that’s bad to admit, said Yuta, but yeah, it would. 

“Not yet,” Yuta teased. Instead he went back to the Japan Airlines goody bag, and the sound of it opening made Taeyong painfully aware of his extremely neglected cock hanging between his legs. 

Yuta strolled almost leisurely in front of Taeyong, who’s eyes caught the glint of the silver butt plug in his hand. Taeyong squirmed. 

“Open up, doll,” Yuta cooed, and Taeyong did so, letting him press the cold plug against his tongue before closing his lips around it to suckle. “Get it nice and wet, that’s it.” 

Yuta brushed a thumb over Taeyong’s jaw as he used the other hand to fuck the plug shallowly in and out of Taeyong’s mouth, and the minute he removed it, his thumb acted as a replacement. Taeyong didn’t dare break eye contact, partially because he knew there wasn’t a gay man alive who wouldn’t like Taeyong when he did that, but also because Yuta’s lust-drunk eyes were paralyzing. 

Yuta smiled lazily as he shoved in his pointer finger, then his middle and ring fingers until Taeyong couldn’t properly close his mouth and was borderline gagging every few seconds. Taeyong didn’t even mind, loving the sensation of the pads of Yuta’s fingers against his tongue. He gagged when Yuta let his finger drift almost carelessly far back, sending a small gush of spit over his lips and Yuta’s hand. Taeyong felt embarrassment burning hot against his cheeks, but Yuta didn’t let up, making him do it again until he was heaving before pulling all fingers out but his pointer. Taeyong calmed his tightening chest, keeping eye contact now almost as a challenge.

Yuta leaned down closer to Taeyong’s face, looking fond and mean. “Look at you,” he teased. “My dirty baby.”

The calm, slow, methodical madness of Yuta’s teasing made Taeyong feel like he was on an operating table about to be vivisected, and he didn’t know what to do with the feeling. He was no stranger to rough treatment, but something about the underlying sweet nonchalance of Yuta’s demeanor and the genuine affection he harbored for the man made this all feel way more intimate. It made his stomach drop out from under him, but in a good way, if that was possible. 

Yuta extracted his last finger and walked around to the other end of the table, scratching his nails over Taeyong’s scalp in reassurance on his way. Once Yuta got there, Taeyong could feel him staring. He couldn’t help the onslaught of shame, but it turned him on so much it could make him crazy. Yuta crouched to admire the picture before him. 

“Yonggie?” he said, voice low. “Tell me what you want.” 

Could Taeyong even produce a coherent sentence at this point? He supposed he would have to try. 

“Sir, I – I want you to do what we talked about. What you said you wanted to do.” 

As Taeyong expected, Yuta feigned ignorance. “Hm, and what was that, baby? I seem to have forgotten.” 

_He’s really gonna make me say it._ “Eat me out,” he managed to spit, “please, sir.” 

Yuta laughed, a sound bubbling from deep in his chest. “That’s a good boy. All you have to do is be specific and you’ll get what you want. Not so bad.” 

Yuta was being a bitch, but part of Taeyong was so happy that Yuta seemed to be letting himself go in this little scene they’d thought up. Also, he had to admit it was hot. 

Taeyong mewled when he felt Yuta’s tongue against his entrance without warning, and he began panting with Yuta’s continued mouthing. When Yuta breached him, his leg kicked uselessly and he almost screamed as his arms came dangerously close to buckling. Yuta undoubtedly heard him strangle a sound, because he pulled away to speak, leaving Taeyong to whine at the pause. 

“You can be loud if you need to darling,” Yuta encouraged, smiling wickedly. “Everyone knows why we’re here.” 

_Fuck off_ , Taeyong wanted to say, but he didn’t. “Thank you, sir,” was what he opted for instead. 

Yuta went back to it, adding his fingers to stretch Taeyong until he was a groaning, sweaty mess. Taeyong couldn’t stop his hands and feet from twitching, and his dick jolted for the nth time that night, straining and starting to leak precome onto the waterproof table below him. If this kept up much longer, Taeyong thought he would come way before the real fun was even supposed to begin. 

Thankfully, Yuta halted soon after, returning to his bag to pull out a bottle of lube. He covered the plug in some of it and slipped it into Taeyong’s loosened hole. Taeyong sighed, eyelids a heavy fog blinking over his vision and arms supporting him with nothing but sheer willpower. He could feel his knees starting to dig into the surface below the table’s cushioning, but he was beyond caring. 

Yuta pet over Taeyong’s lower back soothingly. “Was that good, baby?” he asked. “Was it what you wanted?” 

Taeyong heard Yuta slicking up his hands, but he didn’t even bother to look back. He had to focus on making his suddenly dumb tongue work to make words. 

“So good, sir,” he managed to slur. “Thank you.”

Taeyong keened as Yuta’s hands slipped over his dick and tight balls. “Of course,” said Yuta. “You were nice enough to help me handle my nerves. It’s the least I could do.” 

Yuta gave Taeyong’s cock a couple tugs before returning once more to his bag. Taeyong’s hips bucked against nothing and he had to stifle a sob as he heard Yuta wipe his hands on a rag. He had no idea when he would be allowed to come at this point; it was one of the things they had chosen to leave up to Yuta’s discretion. 

“Baby, color?” Taeyong heard Yuta say. 

“Green.” 

“How about now?” Yuta asked and Taeyong looked back behind him to see what could have possibly changed. Yuta was holding a battery-powered cock ring. _Oh_ …

Taeyong sniffled. “Still green, sir.”

Yuta smiled and dropped a quick kiss to Taeyong’s back. 

“You’re doing incredibly well, Taeyong,” he said, looking the most neutral he had since he’d gone into full dom mode. “I promise you’re going to feel so, so good. Also, if you want to let your arms relax, then by all means.” 

Taeyong dropped his upper body down so that his cheek was against the table and hummed, letting Yuta slip the cock ring on. Taeyong moaned in earnest and pressed his face and palms into the pleather as he felt it start to vibrate on and off in an uneven rhythm. He almost laughed to himself as he realized, now _I’m about to get hit_. 

The first lick of the riding crop landed over Taeyong’s thighs and he flinched. He breathed through the next couple which came in quick succession but without too much bite. Then, one hard hit landed on his right ass cheek. _Shit_. Taeyong could imagine the shade of pink-tinged purple he’d be tomorrow, and the idea made him spasm, the pulsing of the ring and the crop on his left cheek overwhelming him. He stopped counting the hits, thinking he wanted to fold in on himself to try and escape all the sensation – all the buildup without release or end of any kind – but he knew it wouldn’t do anything. 

Yuta kneaded Taeyong’s ass, face awed. “You look gorgeous, baby,” he gushed. 

“Thank you, sir.” If Taeyong was being honest, he loved being hit with a riding crop. It didn’t hurt as much as some other things did and there was a thrill to deriving so much pleasure from something that most people wouldn’t think felt good that made Taeyong lose his mind. Speaking of losing one’s mind, Taeyong was fairly certain Yuta was ready to bust out of his pants by now. 

“Sir, can you come here?” he asked. Yuta moved to the side of the table so his belt and fly were basically at Taeyong’s eye-level. Yeah, that didn’t look comfortable. 

“Can I suck you?” 

Yuta’s expression melted into a smile as he started to work at his buckle. “Did I dream you?” he said. 

Taeyong almost rolled his eyes, but another buzz from the cock ring made him choke instead. 

Yuta took his straining cock out and let Taeyong suckle at the tip for a moment just to ground himself. He smacked Taeyong’s ass a few more times, eliciting little garbled yelps, until he abandoned the crop at the edge of the table. Taeyong was happy that Yuta could finally fully let go, moaning as he pressed deeper into Taeyong’s mouth. He laced his fingers through one of the golden knots over Taeyong’s back, using it as an anchor to fuck his mouth. Taeyong tried to breathe evenly through his nose, moaning around Yuta’s dick every time the cock ring decided to stimulate him and feeling the slick puddle beneath him finally reach his knees. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Yuta said in mock concern, “you’re leaking so much. You really are a dirty baby.” 

“M’sorry,” Taeyong said when Yuta gave him the chance to speak. He wasn’t necessarily sorry, but he was embarrassed, and he had a habit of apologizing when he was embarrassed. He also had a habit of looking extremely cute when he was embarrassed. He hoped he looked as pretty as he felt. 

Then, as if Yuta could read his thoughts, he said, “don’t be. You look so pretty like this, I think it’s giving me brain damage.” 

Taeyong grinned at that and wiggled his butt. He seriously needed Yuta to just fuck him. He’d been teased for so long that he felt full and empty all at once. 

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” said Yuta, moving back behind Taeyong and apparently intending to fuck him almost fully clothed. _Damn_. 

“Please, please, please, fuck me, sir,” Taeyong begged. “I need you.” 

That always did the trick. Yuta turned off the cock ring but left it on, much to Taeyong’s chagrin. Without thinking, he was whining about it. 

“Shhhh, just a little longer with it, baby, then you get to come as hard as you want. Sound good? Color?” 

“Green,” Taeyong assured. 

“Perfect. Oh, fuck baby I can’t wait to be inside you.” 

Taeyong heard Yuta fisting himself wetly and then he felt the plug inside him being pulled mostly out and pushed back in. He wanted to groan in frustration, but nothing about his body seemed to be working to respond; nothing but his tear ducts apparently. He cried silently as this went on just the slightest bit too long, but then Yuta was cooing over him and pressing his cock in to replace the plug. 

Taeyong’s hands scrambled for something to hold, to no avail, and his chest heaved as he adjusted. 

“Ah, thank you sir. Thank you.” Taeyong’s voice refused to come out without sounding like he was in a porno, so he just let it happen. 

Yuta began to move slowly. Too slowly. 

“God, you feel so good, Yonggie,” Yuta groaned as he slid in and out. “Sorry, I’ll get a move on in a second. You know I love teasing you, though. Bet you wish I’d let you bounce on my cock.” 

Taeyong couldn’t even respond beyond a broken moan and Yuta didn’t care, obviously reveling in the way the man under him whimpered more desperately with every passing second. 

Once Yuta did pick up the pace, hooking his fingers again into the shibari ropes for grip, it wasn’t long before both of them were close to finishing. They had riled themselves up so much with everything they planned for the lead up. On top of that, Yuta wouldn’t stop driving Taeyong wild with his words, rambling about how well he took it and how Yuta loved that he let him fuck him stupid. With the ring still on, Taeyong’s pleasure was starting to turn into pain at being so pent up. He babbled pleas for it to come off, tears pooling next to his face. He felt pathetic, but it was worth it, as Yuta obliged, removing the ring and fisting Taeyong’s dick as he folded himself over to kiss his back until Taeyong felt like if he held it in any longer, he’d ruin it. 

“You can come, if you need to, darling,” Yuta assured. 

Taeyong let out a gut-punched sound, “thank you, sir.” His words dissolved into moans as he came, streaking pale over the dark table. He felt it like a ray of warm sun over his whole body, the ecstasy of his release spreading from his dick to become a tingle of bliss over his scalp and into his toes. And as Yuta fucked him through it and then through his own orgasm, Taeyong couldn’t stop coming. He didn’t stop until he was shaking and milked to the point where it felt like he was squirting. Only then did the immediate memory of him shrieking his voice hoarse at the intensity and repeating “thank you, thank you, thank you,” over and over hit him. _Holy shit_. 

He also became slowly aware of just how much his knees hurt. 

“Damn,” Yuta’s voice was reverent and breathless, “you’re incredible.” 

The reassurance stopped Taeyong from feeling the need to curl up and stuff himself in Yuta’s bag and never come out due to humiliation. Why did that feeling always chase him every time he wanted a kinkier than average dicking?

“You too,” Taeyong sighed, “but can I get some assistance here?” 

Yuta laughed. “Shit, yeah let me deal with it.” 

‘Dealing with it’ meant carrying Taeyong back to the bed they’d started on, toweling him down, and peppering his skin with sweet soft kisses as Yuta worked to unwind all the knots he’d tied earlier.

“Maybe you should get stressed out more often,” Taeyong teased as Yuta worked at the mermaid knots on his calves, perched on the edge of the bed and radiant in Taeyong’s estimation. Taeyong felt amazing in the afterglow, but he was also getting frustrated by how long the process was taking because all he wanted was to curl up in Yuta’s arms. At least he was being cared for, though. The way Yuta’s hands were practically worshipping Taeyong’s legs as he worked made Taeyong forget any insecurity he had about how knobby they usually looked to him. 

Yuta smirked. “For both our sakes I tend to disagree.” 

Taeyong was finally loose enough to wiggle free and Yuta pulled the gold rope from him as he did so, winding it back up to put away. He returned a moment later carrying a little tub of something. Taeyong blinked to clear the bleariness from his vision. It was arnica cream. 

Yuta hopped on the bed and instructed Taeyong to roll over, which he did, revealing the hot pink welts blooming over the skin of his ass and thighs. Yuta winced on his behalf. 

“Does it hurt, sweetheart?” he asked, looking a little sheepish. _He feels guilty_ , Taeyong realized with a hint of amused fondness. He shook his head. 

“Not much, but I haven’t tried sitting yet so we’ll see.” 

Yuta opened the lid of the cream and dipped his fingers shallowly into it until he had enough to soothe Taeyong’s soon-to-be bruises. “Okay. Well, just stay still for me.” 

“Yes _sir_ ,” Taeyong teased, wiggling a little in direct opposition to his instructions and shooting Yuta an open grin as he shoves his head down into the plush white bedding. 

Yuta took a sharp breath at that. “Don’t start,” he warned. 

Yuta swiped the cream over Taeyong’s markings and Taeyong suddenly felt a rush of appreciation at being babied like this. His skin was feverish with pins and needles when Yuta’s fingers came into contact with it – like he was being shocked by the world’s weakest battery. Yuta pressed just the slightest bit, massaging the abused tissue, and Taeyong yelped. 

“ _Ita_!” 

“Sorry, baby,” Yuta said mildly, a teasing smile emerging on his lips. “By the way, why didn’t you tell me earlier on that you liked getting hit with a crop?” 

“I was worried I’d freak you out,” answered Taeyong. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to hit me with one?” 

Yuta chuckled lowly. “Touché.” 

“Although,” Taeyong continued, “I shouldn’t have been worried. I’ve heard that yakuza tend to be kinky bastards. Is that the case?” 

“I can only speak for myself,” Yuta mumbled. 

The soothing cool of the cream was so nice once Taeyong had adjusted to the slight pressure. He could feel the crusted gash of a scar on Yuta’s palm from their initiation ritual. Yuta leaned down to press wet kisses into Taeyong’s back, pampering him like that for a few more minutes before pulling both his hands and lips away. By then, Taeyong was pressed heavily into the sheets, flushed face relaxed, drawing soft breathes in through parted lips.

“You look so blissed out, baby,” Yuta admired. 

“Iyam,” Taeyong slurred, trying to stop the drool that was threatening to leak out of his mouth. “Thank you.” 

Taeyong opened his eyes only to find his vision blurred once more. He looked up at the abstract portrait of Yuta his retinas were rendering for him and laughed. 

“I can’t believe you just fucked me completely dressed,” he said as Yuta ran a hand through his hair. “I mean it was hot but still.” He giggled at his own observation. 

Yuta looked down at himself, white shirt askew and mostly unbuttoned and pants and belt done up hastily. He shrugged. “Me neither, to be honest. Now my clothes are all sticky.” 

“Well, then take them off!” Taeyong said in exasperation. “I wanna look at your tattoos while we cuddle.”

Yuta feigned indignance. “Oh, _only_ my tattoos?” 

“Yeah of course,” Taeyong deadpanned, “what else would I be interested in?” 

Yuta shed his dirty clothing onto the floor but kept his underwear on. Taeyong figured this was a good thing since he should probably avoid anything that could turn him on if he was going to get any rest. He rolled onto his side and opened his arms to invite Yuta in. Yuta slotted himself so they were chest to chest and nose to nose, then grabbed the wrist of Taeyong’s left hand to bring it to his mouth and kiss the scar on the pad of Taeyong’s thumb. Taeyong couldn’t help but want to get closer, so he nestled in as far as he could go since he couldn’t turn into a ghost and slip his body right through Yuta’s. He draped his right leg over both of Yuta’s and flattened his forearm against Yuta’s back, raising his head to kiss at the skin under Yuta’s left ear. 

Taeyong had nearly forgotten they’d only known each other for five weeks. If someone had told him a year ago that he could fall for someone this quickly, he’d have accused them of being unrealistic and a romantic, purely as a means of denying to himself the fact that he was very much both of those things. 

“Yonggie,” Yuta scolded, “I’m supposed to take care of you, now. Not the other way around.” 

Taeyong refused to stop anything he was doing, nibbling slightly at one of Yuta’s silver earrings. 

“You’ve been taking care of me all night,” Taeyong breathed. “Let me say thank you?” 

Yuta smiled against Taeyong’s jaw. “I suppose if you insist.” 

“I do.” 

Taeyong watched in the mirror over Yuta’s shoulder as he mouthed at the skin there and traced his fingers over Yuta’s spine tattoo, which was complete with exaggeratedly wide and sharp wings on each vertebra. Taeyong didn’t know what those parts were called scientifically, but they looked like wings. 

“Did I do good, sir?” Taeyong murmured into Yuta’s ear. “Did that help destress you?” 

Yuta shifted so he was lying on his back and pulled Taeyong on top of him. Taeyong let out a sound of surprise at the adjustment.

“That was exactly what I needed,” Yuta said, looking up at Taeyong like he was praying to him. “Thank you. You’re more than I deserve.” 

Taeyong settled himself down, chin against Yuta’s chest. He frowned, feeling a sickness stirring in him at Yuta’s words. 

“Don’t you dare think that.” 

Yuta smiled ruefully, taking Taeyong’s left cheek in his right hand and caressing with his thumb. “S’okay,” he assured. “I’m just happy.” He paused for a while, then said, “you mentioned your family tried to make you afraid of tattoos. Did they warn you against anything else?” 

Taeyong snorted, air ricocheting against Yuta’s chest and sending Taeyong’s bangs floating. 

“Why do we always have these family conversations right after sex?” Taeyong asked jokingly. “Isn’t that weird?” 

Yuta’s eyes widened in fake exasperation. “Listen, we don’t get a ton of time alone to talk about these things. I’m trying here!” 

Taeyong ran a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. In all honesty, I don’t know what they made me scared of and what I grew to fear all by myself. I still talk to my sister semi-regularly, at least, but I’m such a disappointment to my parents that I try to keep my distance. It’s too painful otherwise.” 

“I know how you feel,” Yuta said, fingers coming to cradle Taeyong’s chin. 

Taeyong smiled meekly, eyes fluttering between Yuta’s chest, his face, and the mirror on their right. 

“I know you do,” he almost whispered. He sighed. “I think they wanted me to be afraid of being gay. They thought I’d be effeminate and need constant protection, and that gave me this complex where I always sought out people who’d get me into trouble so I could prove myself.” Taeyong laughed wryly. “It wasn’t hard to find those types in Shin-Ōkubo.” 

“I suppose I’m more of the same,” Yuta said, “getting you into trouble all the time.” 

“Yeah but I’m more mature now,” Taeyong reasoned. “I can handle myself within all this. Or at least I hope I can. Anyway, that’s enough on that for now.” Taeyong hated the way Yuta’s face dropped, but Yuta didn’t say anything. Taeyong knew he was too respectful a lover to press if Taeyong wasn’t ready. “Wanna makeout?” Taeyong proposed, and that brought the light back to Yuta’s expression. 

It was slow and nice, both of them sated and able to take their time letting hands roam and lips go swollen. Taeyong giggled as Yuta brushed his fingertips against his sides and groaned when Yuta pressed him into the mattress. Taeyong felt drunk on being allowed to touch as much as he wanted to, something he couldn’t do with his body tied up and Yuta behind him. He wondered if this would ever feel normal, assuming it lasted. 

***

Yuta lay on his back, smoking his obligatory post-coital cigarette with Taeyong curled into his side. Taeyong didn’t know what was coming over him, but he felt a sudden urge to take a drag. Maybe because it was _Yuta’s_ cigarette and he wanted to share it with _him_. Whatever the reasoning was, he reached up and plucked it from Yuta’s hand, catching the man above him by surprise as he brought it to his lips and took a puff, coughing on the exhale and rolling onto his back. 

“Taeyong,” Yuta said, voice somewhere between dark and cautious. “What are you doing?” 

“I don’t know, really,” Taeyong answered, frowning at the cigarette as he held it and watched it smolder, turning it around to observe it from many angles as if it were a completely foreign object. “I had a craving though.” He took another shallow, experimental drag as Yuta looked on in awe and confusion, and then he shifted so he was on his stomach, supporting his upper body with his elbows. 

“Shit,” Yuta remarked, “I’m a terrible influence.” 

The smoke burned Taeyong’s lungs, making them feel small, and he breathed out a grey cloud. He rested his head on the hand with the cigarette and crossed his ankles up behind him. A look of discovery sparkled on Yuta’s face. 

“I wish I could take a picture of you like this,” he admitted. Taeyong couldn’t see himself from Yuta’s point of view, but he could imagine it: body dewy and flushed against the bed, posing sassily and mugging with his cheek and puffy lips pressed into his palm, cigarette perched in his hand like a classic femme fatale. He sort of wished he had a picture of himself like this too. 

Yuta pretended to hold a camera, miming looking through the viewfinder and clicking the shutter. Taeyong laughed at him, handed back the cigarette, and hopped off the bed as gingerly as he could, declaring he’d be back but he had to pee. 

Even this long after, Taeyong looked just as fucked-out as he felt as he twisted around in the bathroom mirror. His back was covered in love bites and his lower body was an angry red; his hair stuck in seven different directions, each one maintained with dried sweat; and his face looked melted, salty tear tracks still visible at the corners of his eyes. The dusty pink lighting in the bathroom accentuated the pinks and reds left on his skin and made him look like a fallen angel. He loved it. 

He flushed the toilet and washed his hands, not wanting to consider what invisible things one might touch by using a love hotel bathroom. He was about to open the door and rejoin Yuta when he heard what sounded like a different door being busted open. Taeyong didn’t know how to process the noise. Was Yuta up to something out there? Had it come from down the hall? Had he imagined it? 

“How cute,” said a man’s voice somewhere out in the room, and Taeyong froze. He hadn’t imagined _that_. The voice was too deep to be Yuta’s, and Taeyong could hear the sneer in it. 

“Yuta?” Taeyong yelled, immediately thinking maybe he shouldn’t have. 

“Oh, so that’s where the other occupant of this honeymoon suite ran off to,” trilled another voice. Taeyong felt like someone was trying to tear out every hair on his body. _What the fuck???_

“Baby,” came Yuta’s voice, a bit shaky. Taeyong heard snickers. “Whatever you do, don’t come out here, understand?” 

Taeyong pressed his head into the door to try and tame his trembling. “I – yes. Yuta, what’s going on?” He’d locked the door when he entered the bathroom out of habit, but he felt like crying at the idea of sitting there, powerless, and listening to whatever was about to occur. 

“We’re only paying your boyfriend a little visit,” answered the third and final voice. “It won’t take too long if he cooperates.”

A bubble of pure fear broke in Taeyong’s throat as he listened to Yuta curse the invaders out, then to the ensuing scuffle. Finally, there was a deafening silence and Taeyong wanted to scream. He banged a hand flat against the door, not caring about the bursts of pain radiating the harder he went at it. 

“Yuta? Yuta, say something,” he sobbed. “Please.” 

“Shut up! Goddamn hysterical fairy,” said the first voice, and Taeyong jumped back from the door. “Nakamoto-san won’t be answering you anymore.” 

_What the hell did that mean?_ Taeyong felt like he couldn’t move. He didn’t understand how he could have let this happen. He almost wished he had come out and tried to fight. At least there would have been honor in that. Still, he knew Yuta was right. It was better that one of them get away. Taeyong would need to warn the rest of the regiment. 

“Nobu,” said one of the men, “go get the other one.” 

_Shit_ . Taeyong felt like his whole body must have been visibly pulsing, his heart was beating so hard. He grabbed the bathrobe on the back of the door and put it on, knowing he would need it if he managed to get outside somehow. The door strained as someone thrust their whole weight into it from the other side, startling Taeyong into an adrenaline panic. He looked around the room for something of use to him. Rose-colored shower, mirror, black tiles, towels, soap… _hm…_

Taeyong looked to the ceiling and spotted the air vent, relief flooding him as he got an idea. _It might be a slightly tight fit, but it should work_ , he figured. He climbed up on the toilet and removed the loose grate over the vent with shaking hands, dropping it to the floor with a _CLANG!_

“Let me do it,” Taeyong heard someone say after several full-body heaves failed to bust down the door. _Just hold on a bit longer, hinges_ . Taeyong almost screamed as he watched the blade of a small axe splinter and break a gash into the wood. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_. He hoisted himself up into the air vent, kicking his legs to propel his body farther into the duct. He could only hope that his pursuers were smaller than him. 

By the time he was crawling in child’s pose through the musty airway, he’d heard the door crashing down followed by the disappointed voices of the men who were after him. Finally, their footsteps trailed away and Taeyong let himself breathe. He inched his way down the length of the duct, trying to avoid hot and cold patches in the conductive metal, finally finding an artery that would let him out after about ten minutes. He wished his knees weren’t already so sore, but that was a problem for another time. 

He emerged in a mercifully empty laundry room and slipped out the back door into an alley. It was misting out and, on the street to his right, Taeyong glimpsed one of his favorite images – neon reflected in wet pavement. It would have been so beautiful under normal circumstances. Taeyong wanted to curl up on the ground in the alley until his white robe was soaked through with rain and grime. He wanted to double over and cry forever, but he knew he couldn’t. He was still Yuta’s right-hand man, and he had responsibilities. There was no hope of him tracking Yuta down on his own, so he decided instead to track down a pay phone. 

As Taeyong stumbled through the streets of Azabu, barefoot and sniffling and definitely attracting some very strange looks, something occurred to him for the first time: all of this; the last few weeks; his new life and job; and his relationship with Yuta above all, were moving way too quickly for him, and he should have seen it. He’d let himself get sucked in by the sense of community and by all the attention Yuta gave him. He felt stupid. How did he and Yuta get into this ridiculous situation in only five weeks, where they were each taking bigger and bigger risks and putting their lives on the line for each other? Who did Taeyong think he was? A savior? A fixer of bad guys? Did he think Yuta was _his_ savior? What exactly did he think about anything? Was he even thinking or was he just that easy? 

Taeyong wasn’t mad at Yuta – if anything he was aching to help him. No, he was mad at the whole situation because he felt like it was his fault and he should have known better. 

The first phone booth he found didn’t have any spare change in it, and Taeyong wasn’t about to go around asking for money in his current state, so he looked for another. The second had a couple yen sitting kindly on top of the stainless-steel box for the phone and keypad. Taeyong picked up the receiver, feeling like he was about to puke into the little holes in the speaker as he pushed his coins into their slot. Then, he dialed. 

“ _Moshi moshi_?” came the sleepy voice on the other end.

“Hi Mark, it’s Taeyong. Did I wake you?” 

“A little but that’s fine. Is everything alright?” 

Taeyong leaned against the booth’s rain-tracked glass. He could hear Akina Nakamori’s “Your Portrait” blasting from a nearby karaoke bar. The melodramatic song was almost comically appropriate. Taeyong tried to steady his wavering voice. 

“Not really,” he admitted. “Yuta’s in trouble and I’m stranded. I need you to come pick me up.”

*** 

_Safehouse_. “Safehouse” was not a word Taeyong had ever associated with himself or his life, yet here he was. The safehouse that the Inagawa-kai was using at the time (they had several different properties for this purpose, which Taeyong thought made sense) was a flat across the river in Edogawa. Mark had picked him up and driven him there, walked him through the sparsely decorated apartment with Momo, who was waiting at the door, and sat him on a futon in the wide tatami bedroom, waking Sana from her slumber on the opposite end of the space. She had turned around, pulling the covers up and rubbing at her eyes to get a better view of whatever was going on. 

“It’s alright,” Momo had assured while Mark tried to calm Taeyong down. “Just me, Mark, and Taeyong.” 

Mark and Momo gave Taeyong some pajamas to wear. They managed to get him to stop hyperventilating after about ten minutes, some floral tea Mark made giving him something to focus on, then they coaxed out what had happened. Taeyong tried not to be too embarrassed about where the kidnapping had taken place, focusing instead on the event itself. Thankfully, neither Mark nor Momo really seemed to care. 

“So, you think they were Yamaguchi guys,” Mark reiterated. 

“I mean I have no proof,” said Taeyong, “but that’s the only thing that makes sense, don’t you think?” 

Mark nodded, pacing back and forth as Momo went to sit next to a disoriented Sana. “You’re probably right,” he said. “You didn’t get a look at any of them?” 

“No,” said Taeyong, “like I said I was stuck in the bathroom the whole time.” He looked at his feet as they fidgeted against the mats on the floor. “I should have helped.” 

“No,” Mark asserted, and Taeyong looked up. “It would be a lot worse if they had both of you. We’d have no leads and we wouldn’t have found out about it until later.”

“Well then, it should have been me they got,” Taeyong grumbled. 

Mark paused, the expression on his face begging Taeyong to stop sulking so he could actually be helpful, but Taeyong couldn’t stop himself. 

“Taeyong,” Mark began. “Stop being so hard on yourself. It’s probably good they have Yuta and not you anyway since he’s more experienced with getting out of these types of binds. No offense.” 

“None taken. Okay, I guess that makes sense.” Taeyong sighed, looking to the bed on his left. Sana was dozing against Momo’s shoulder as Momo rubbed her back. The image confused him, but what was new? “I did hear their voices though.” 

“Okay,” said Mark, “that’s something.” 

“One guy had a really deep and gravelly voice. Standard Kanto dialect. He sounded heavy-set. The second one had kind of a nasally tone and he was definitely from somewhere up north.” Taeyong tried to think back to the bathroom. It was difficult to be too sure about anything since he’d been in an altered state of fear, but he tried nonetheless. “Actually,” he began, a thought occurring to him. “The third one rolled his r’s in a way that was very pronounced, like he was trying to exaggerate it. His voice sounded really familiar, but I don’t know why… He called one of the other guys Nobu.”

“Nobu,” Mark pondered. “Not ringing any bells. Still, I bet that could be helpful!”

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah, I bet. Mark?”

“Mm?” 

“What’s gonna happen to Yuta?” 

Mark sighed. He looked stressed out and suddenly Taeyong felt bad for having woken him up to deal with all this. 

“Nothing, so long as we find him,” said Mark. “I don’t know if you should be thinking about that, frankly.” 

Taeyong’s eyes prickled with hot tears, but he held them back. “What’s gonna happen to me?” 

Mark looked at him cautiously. “How do you mean?” 

“Am I going to get excommunicated or punished in some way? This is all my fault.” 

Mark opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything, Momo was starting, waking up Sana by her side. 

“I won’t let that happen, Taeyong,” she assured. “Yuta is one of my dearest friends. I don’t blame you for what happened because I know he’s happy with you and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Besides, this could have happened anywhere else with anyone else. I’m glad it was with you because you really care about him.” She stood, apologizing softly to Sana, who just grumbled and rolled over. 

“There is a possibility that things could get really dangerous for you in Japan, though. If that happens, I can arrange to get you out of the country; to Korea probably. Hopefully it won’t come to that though, and hopefully we can find Yuta before it’s too late.” 

_Korea?_ Taeyong knew that’s where his family was from, and at least he could speak the language, but he barely knew that country. Most of his image of it came from trips there as a child and the news of coups and political strife he saw on TV. Would he really go back there? 

Taeyong slammed his heel into the floor in frustration. He wanted to grind it into a stump. 

“I need to help find Yuta,” he demanded. “I – I still think this is my fault and my ass is on the line and he’s my boyfriend! I need to help find him.” 

“There’ll be a search party,” Mark tried to reason, “but Taeyong, you might not be in the right state right now. You’re traumatized. Maybe you should rest for a few days here with Sana.” 

“Absolutely not,” Taeyong argued. His chest tightened at the idea of being stuck in that flat like some damsel in distress. “I can do it. I want to.” 

Mark sighed. “I’ll talk to Johnny and Doyoung about it, okay?” 

Sana made a noise, and everyone startled. A fire truck siren blared as it passed, muffling her words. 

“What was that?” asked Momo.

“I said it’s my fault,” Sana repeated. “I told Miyazaki-san that he’s being used last night, like I was supposed to - that he'd have yakuza at his doorstep the night before the meeting blackmailing him. He was angry, but he believed me. He said he'd make sure they didn't get to him or make it into the meeting, and that the story of his misdeeds with me didn’t get out. They must have found out and taking Yuta is their way of retaliating. They might even think they can use him to get back in the mix.” She had been talking to the wall until this point when she turned over, looking at Taeyong clearly for the first time all night. “I’m sorry,” she said, “It didn’t occur to me they’d react this way.” 

Taeyong felt a weight leave his shoulders, only to be replaced by another. “Don’t be,” he said, sniffling and smiling through the bittersweet pain of realization. “You were only doing your job.” 

“I bet Sana’s right,” said Mark, and Momo nodded. 

Taeyong looked between them, the soft rain against the room’s window amplifying their expectant silence. 

“So,” he began, “we’ll tell headquarters what happened and start a search party as soon as we can, then?”

Mark bowed his head in agreement and Taeyong continued:

“We’ve got to find Yuta, and I want to be there when we do.” 


	10. Week V pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Please heed the homophobia, violence, and death tags. I swear this chapter isn't as yikes as that makes it sound. Also if you get any of my three movie references then, gold star, I guess? Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Japanese (new words this chapter only!):  
> Yankee - in this context, a Japanese street style trend popular in the 70s and 80s which is basically just dressing like a greaser  
> Hisashiburi - essentially, "long time no see"

_“The Shareef don’t like it! Rock the Casbah, rock the Casbah!”_ Yuta came to with a jolt as Joe Strummer’s voice yell-sang into his right ear. _The fuck?_

Yuta blinked. He had no idea where he was, nor when he had gotten there, nor what time it was or for how long he’d been unconscious. When he gained back his general awareness, he took quick stock of the things he could be sure of: 1) someone was holding a boom box up to his head, hence the Clash song, and obviously not worrying about the prospect of damaging his hearing 2) he was in a windowless room with orange walls, stained absorbent flooring, this year’s Pirelli calendar, and little else he could see 3) two men stood in front of him, smirking, and one of them – a tall man with cropped hair – looked eerily familiar 4) they were both wearing Yamaguchi-gumi pins. _Fuck_ 5) Yuta looked down and saw he had on the white shirt and black pants he’d worn to the Alpha Inn, although when and how he’d gotten dressed he had no idea 6) he’d been tied to a chair with his own gold rope and he could feel bruises and stiffness throughout his body as he struggled experimentally against it, and 7) right: he’d been kidnapped. Yuta spat, a little blood tinging his saliva pink. He was going to have quite a time trying to get himself out of this, he thought, running through his seven realizations, each more terrifying than the last. 

“Ah, there he is,” said a large man with a mustache and oversized purple suit. “Hello in there?”

Yuta refused to respond, glaring at his captors as the guy with the boombox stood down and came to join his buddies, setting it on the floor. He wore a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and greased hair – classic _yankee_ street kid – and his cheeks were riddled with acne scars. He was the youngest of the three, probably about Yuta and Taeyong’s age. _Taeyong…_

Yuta shook his shoulders in another attempt to get free. He knew it was futile before he started though; whoever had tied him knew what he was doing. 

“What did you do with –” Yuta cut himself off, knowing he shouldn’t reveal too much.

“With Taeyong-kun?” said Purple Suit, folding his arms and smiling in condescension. 

“How did you…?” Yuta felt like his insides were being filled in with cement. Suddenly, he couldn’t speak, nor breathe hardly. The thought that these bastards had done anything to hurt Taeyong was so unfathomable to him it made him woozy, but he knew it was a possibility. 

“We know because we have him,” Purple Suit explained with a smirk. Something about the expression seemed forced to Yuta, and it gave him just the little bit of hope he needed to fight against the ball of dread and resignation in his gut. 

“I won’t believe you unless I see him,” Yuta snarled. 

The tall man interjected. “Unfortunately, that’s not possible right now. You’re just going to have to take our word for it. Can’t do much else, hm?”

“We assure you we’re taking good care of him though,” said Yankee. 

“Oh, fuck you!” said Yuta, trying not to let any angry tears escape his burning eyes.

“Anyway,” said Purple Suit, pulling Yuta’s knife from his pocket. Yuta’s eyes went wide. “I hope you don’t mind us using your things. It was nice of you to bring so many fun items along with you. We didn’t even have to go looking for rope, and besides, the color of this one really compliments your skin tone.” The man approached Yuta as he thought to himself that he’d never hated someone so much in his life. “I’m sure you don’t mind, considering you’re into this type of thing apparently.”

Purple Suit leaned over and pressed the blade into Yuta’s neck just enough for him to feel it prick. He tried to steady his breathing. 

“What do you want with me?” he asked. 

“We want help getting back into your little meeting next week. Or, more precisely, we need some information for negotiation purposes. You can do that, right?”

So that’s what this was about. _The Sana scheme had worked_ , Yuta realized in a moment of selfless relief. Maybe it had worked a little _too_ well.

“Why would I do that?” Yuta asked, feeling the cold metal gliding to cut a long, but ultimately superficial slice into the skin at the base of his neck. He hissed.

“Because,” Purple Suit began to explain, pulling away, “you wouldn’t want your little secret getting out, now would you?”

Something clicked in Yuta’s mind and he allowed himself a split second of amusement. “My secret?” 

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” said the tall guy, “There’s quite literally no way of denying it now, with all the proof we have, _boss_.”

Yuta’s amusement turned to dreading realization. _That’s_ where he’d seen this man: in the bathroom at Copycat pretending to be an incompetent drug dealer. _No fucking way_. Yamaguchi must have been tailing him more than he’d known; gathering information and waiting for the right moment to use it against him. The tall man chuckled. “I see you remember me.”

Yuta laughed mirthlessly. “ _Hisashiburi_.” 

“Back to that secret of yours,” said Purple Suit, “it would be so easy for us to let it slip, wouldn’t it? You’d be excommunicated faster than you could finish begging to stay, and then who’ll protect you when we come knocking?”

“That _would_ work,” Yuta began, “but you’re missing a vital piece of information.” The song faded out and a new one began: “Relax” by Frankie Goes to Hollywood. _Did they have a torture mixtape?_

“And what’s that?”

“ _Oyabun_ already knows, and I have his full support,” Yuta explained. “I’m underwhelmed, frankly, that your snooping didn’t manage to dredge that up.” 

Purple Suit’s face twitched. “Nobu,” he said, looking at the tall man from the club out of the corner of his eyes. Nobu walked forward coolly, pressed his boot heel into Yuta’s battered face and pushed until Yuta’s chair tipped backwards and he hit the ground with a reverberating thud. He felt it in his bones as he had no way of dampening the shock. Purple Suit leaned over him. 

“You’d better watch your tone, Nakamoto.” Yuta saw something in his peripheral vision. It had been behind him while seated but from his current vantage point, it was above him and upside-down: a hydraulic press. Yuta shuddered. Maybe he _should_ be more respectful. 

“Get him up.” Yankee pulled Yuta back to sitting so he was facing his captors once more. “Glad you caught a glimpse.” 

Yuta was beginning to feel sicker and lower on fight with every passing second. He sighed. 

“That’s a better attitude,” Purple Suit continued. “Yuta-san, I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of your secret if you think you’re safe just because Goro,” the name came out like a curse, “has decided for whatever reason to protect you.” _Trust me, I_ do _understand_ , Yuta thought. “I hope you don’t think that just because you took the Sana-chan card away from us, we won’t still be arriving to claim our rightful seat at the table. Breaking in isn’t something we’d usually try; I’m sure you know that sort of behavior is not looked upon kindly, but this situation is a bit different if you’re involved. One word from us to the board at Mitsubishi and your deal is toast. They wouldn’t want to be associated with an organization of perverts, especially if they have a better deal from us to fall back on and our protection from any of your attempts at retaliation. If anything, they would be thankful to us for warning them against that PR disaster. Gangsters in corporate negotiations is an unspoken expectation, but queer gangsters? Now I can’t predict the future, but I don’t think the public would react too kindly to that. Hm, Yuta?”

He was right. Yuta hated to admit it. There still seemed to be some fault in the logic of these threats though, and Yuta figured he could try and exploit that. 

“Fair enough,” Yuta said. “But what I’m hearing, if you’ll allow me, is that you will get into the meeting and try to torpedo our deal no matter what I do, so why do you still need me and why would I help you?”

Purple Suit chuckled, pacing back and forth a bit. “It’s true that your boss’s, uh, open-mindedness has complicated our calculations a bit, but you’re still of use to us here, and I think we can persuade you to tell us what we need to know.”

Yuta cocked an eyebrow. A bright throbbing was starting in the back of his head where he’d experienced mild whiplash on the way down earlier, and he noticed that the blood from his neck wound was starting to stain his white shirt, hot and sticky. _This could actually be going worse, though_ , he reasoned. 

“And what would that be?” he challenged. 

“It’s imperative that we offer a better deal to Mitsubishi,” said Nobu. “There are certain preparations we’re undertaking for which we must be privy to that information. I’m sure you understand.”

Yankee continued that thought. “You could be a dear and tell us how much you’re asking for and exactly what you’re offering in return.”

Yuta scoffed. “Absolutely fucking not.” Yuta’s insolence was greeted by Yankee’s fist across his face. It hurt like a needle straight in the jaw. 

Yuta looked back at his tormentors as his vision blurred slightly on his left side from his swelling cheek. Purple Suit watched like this was exactly how he’d hoped Yuta would react. “Oh?” he said. “Have you forgotten about your little boyfriend? We could do anything we wanted to him at any moment.”

Yuta took a moment to process, looking around the room and hoping to heaven that he was right. “I’m calling your bluff,” he muttered. 

Purple Suit shrugged, some of Yuta’s blood dripping from the knife he was still holding and onto the floor, where it diffused and dissolved as if in water. Yuta wondered morbidly how many other people’s blood was in that flooring and how many of them lived to walk away. “That’s fine,” Purple Suit mocked. “It’s our word against your intuition, but you’d better hope you’re correct. I know you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you let him die.”

 _That’s true_. He wouldn’t. Still, Yuta had this strange faith that they were lying about having Taeyong. Yuta had been knocked unconscious without seeing if Taeyong had escaped, but he knew him, and he knew he would have found a way. 

“Or,” Nobu offered, “what if we were to use this knife in between your legs so you could never fuck that pretty boy of yours ever again? Would that be immediate enough a threat to get you to cooperate?”

Yuta winced at the idea. _They wouldn’t, would they?_ His head was spinning. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore – wasn’t sure if Taeyong was in danger or not, nor how much danger. His whole body ached, and his left eye was closing, obscuring about a third of the room to him. He needed a second to think. 

“That’s a convincing threat, I’ll give you that,” he said lowly. Yuta felt his right leg jitter as he realized just how much he wished he could have a cigarette. _Hey – that’s an idea_.

“Before we get to that inviting activity, though,” he said, “would any of you mind if I indulged in a smoke? You want me in a good mood, don’t you? Besides, it could be my last, depending on how this goes.” 

Nobu and Yankee looked a little taken aback. They both seemed to want to say no as they looked between each other, then to their boss, not daring to speak. 

“That’s only fair,” Purple Suit said warmly. “We’re not animals, after all. Isamu?”

Yankee, or Isamu, as Yuta now knew him, gaped a bit, but stood to attention nonetheless.

“Yes, _Shategashira_ ,” _hm,_ _same rank_.

“Untie his arm for him.” 

Isamu freed Yuta’s right arm, allowing him to fish for the box of Mild Sevens he still had in his back pocket. He held one between his fingers, his elbow sitting against the armrest of the wooden chair he’d been tied to. “Anyone have a light?”

Purple Suit pulled a lighter from his jacket pocket and held it to the end of Yuta’s cigarette, indulgent amusement and pity playing over his expression. 

Yuta took a puff and felt the nicotine clearing his mind. He took the opportunity of having a free hand to clear some hair and blood from his face. 

“So, what now?” Yuta asked, feeling maybe too in control of himself all of a sudden. He knew he’d gotten Johnny and Mina to give Taeyong the good training saying that he shouldn’t be afraid to look weak, and he hoped that, should the Yamaguchi-gumi be telling the truth about capturing him, he was using that strategy well. But it wasn’t really Yuta’s style. “Do your worst.”

Purple Suit chuckled. “So, we will have to persuade you physically, then?” he confirmed.

Yuta made a gesture with his free hand meant to convey an irreverent “obviously.”

“I mean I certainly won’t speak if I don’t actually think you’ll cut my dick off,” he said, taking another drag. “I suppose I still wouldn’t talk then, but I’d at least have to consider it, wouldn’t you say?”

Isamu glared, looking like if his boss wasn’t there, he would have bashed Yuta’s skull in. 

Purple Suit stalked towards Yuta, putting a fist in his hair once he’d gotten to him and yanking hard, making Yuta grimace. Yuta tried to blow some smoke into the face of the man hovering over him, but it was easily dodged. _Oh well_. 

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?” Purple Suit asked. 

Yuta blinked the eye that would still open and close. “Why yes, _Shategashira_ , I do.” He took another drag. “You’re awful close,” he taunted. “Want a kiss? Is that it? It’s fine with me; I like to be kissed when I’m getting fucked over.”

Purple Suit pulled away, frowning and wiping his hands against each other in disgust. Yuta couldn’t help himself: laughter started to bubble out of him at the absurdity. These idiots didn’t have Taeyong; he was sure of it now. If they did, they would have hauled him in long ago and not bothered with threatening Yuta’s genitals. 

“Why is he laughing?” Isamu asked. 

“Freak,” Nobu said in response, spitting on the floor. 

Purple Suit and Isamu exchanged a look and Isamu took a few steps forward before holding Yuta’s chair still and ramming his knee straight into Yuta’s gut. It caused nausea to stir within him and a tear to prickle at his eye. 

Yuta coughed as he tried to suck in a deep breath, sobered. “You know what I never liked about you Yamaguchi thugs?” he rasped.

Purple Suit smirked. “Oh, no please, enlighten us.”

Yuta took a shaky drag. “It’s that you have so much power that you’re careless in exerting it. And you’re always hungry for more.”

“I don’t follow.”

“There’s no love in your violence,” Yuta went on, “no craft. You don’t seem to care about what you’re doing; you just do it because you can.” 

“Save his dick for later,” Purple Suit muttered as Yuta waited to go on monologuing. “Take him to the press. I don’t have time for this shit.”

Yuta was terrified out of his head at the idea of the hydraulic press, but it was probably still better than the alternative. He decided not to think about it until he had to. Isamu and Nobu moved forward to pick up his chair and place him right in front of the large metal machine. He decided to keep running his mouth to distract himself.

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t see.”

Yuta kept his eye trained on the black “on” switch of the press. “Administering pain is serious business,” he expanded. “It shouldn’t be undergone for frivolous reasons or as an afterthought because you ‘don’t have time’ to give someone the respect of a well-though-out beating. Or take what started this all: you saw us about to gain more influence internationally and finally secure our control over Tokyo, and despite your strangle hold on most of the country, you just couldn’t abide it, could you? Our ambition had to be crushed. We might be a smaller organization than you, but we understand the gravity of using force because we’ve needed to scrap to get where we are.” 

Purple Suit came around to Yuta’s side and plucked the cigarette from his hand, dropping it on the floor and stamping it out. 

“You won’t be needing this anymore,” he said, glaring. Yuta wondered if he meant the cigarette or the hand. Probably both.

“This guy’s crazy,” Isamu said.

“I might be, but I’d rather be crazy and still have my love. That’s what I meant when I said there was no love in your violence. You’d all be more than happy to turn your back on your brother simply because of who he loves. I’m glad you’re not part of my regiment, because what’s an organization without trust and love between its members? You can’t tell me you have that.”

“Shut up!” Nobu yelled, glancing at Purple Suit for reassurance before grabbing Yuta’s hand and placing it on the stainless-steel platform below the press, holding it there by the wrist. “I don’t want to hear another word from you unless it’s how much money you’re asking for, or what you’re offering Mitsubishi for the deal. Preferably both, got it?”

Yuta clammed up. That was probably for the best since he’d gotten his main point across and if he’d kept talking, he likely would have started blubbering as the fear set in. He didn’t think he was prepared for how much this was about to hurt.

Yuta couldn’t stop his fingers from squirming as Purple Suit ghosted over the on-switch. 

“This baby takes twenty seconds to arrive home,” He explained. “That’s twenty seconds you have to give us the information we’re looking for.”

He clicked “on,” and the machine groaned to life. Yuta started the countdown in his head so he could relish his last twenty seconds with a right hand. _20, 19, 18, 17, 16…_

“We’re waiting,” Nobu warned as Yuta started to sweat. “You know exactly what we want to hear.”

Yuta fidgeted, eyes rolling around the room and trying to find anything to focus on to not have to watch the inevitable. He settled on the garage door built into the wall behind the press. He must have been in some kind warehouse.

_11, 10, 9, 8…_

“You’re making a mistake, Nakamoto,” Purple Suit chided as the press homed in on his hand. Yuta closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch, waiting for Purple Suit to keep talking so he could distract himself with whatever biting words were about to come his way. Instead of words though, Yuta got an explosion. Or at least that’s what he thought it was. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the sound had come from a car – Johnny’s car to be exact – driving straight through the garage door a couple yards in front of him. The impact had hurled shards of wood around the room and the air was thick with dust and debris. 

That was certainly a distraction... It was such a distraction that Yuta almost didn’t feel the cold metal pressing down on the top of his hand. When he did, he looked against his better judgement: Nobu was no longer holding him in place, preoccupied by the recent interruption, no doubt. Despite this, it was verging on too late. _Fuck!_ Yuta almost doubled over at the pain as the muscles, tendons, and bones in his hand strained to hold their shapes. His brain went into panic overdrive and all he could think to do was ignore the sensation and wiggle his hand sideways as quickly as humanly possible. He focused in on the action, thanking his lucky stars that the machine was stalling a bit against his flesh, giving him time to at least try to remove his hand with minimal damage. After a few seconds of this struggle – which to Yuta felt like centuries – he managed to yank himself free, panting wildly. 

He stared at the circular purple bruise on it in relief and horror. He couldn’t really move it; it only twitched when his brain sent it instructions. Undoubtedly there were broken bones there, Yuta thought, but the hand was intact. _Intact, thank god_.

“Get down, _Shategashira_ !” Yuta heard Doyoung screaming. _Right_ , Yuta realized, a new relief flooding him, _I’m being rescued. That’s what’s happening_. 

Yuta looked to his left, where Doyoung was aiming a Sten Gun at Isamu, who was standing behind Yuta and aiming right back. Yuta smiled to himself hysterically, cushioning his damaged hand against his stomach and hauling himself and his chair to the floor to avoid the line of fire. 

He liked to think of this strategy as ‘dead fish pose,’ where the captive being retrieved lies on the floor and tries to seem invisible while the scuffle plays out around them; yet another thing Yuta had made sure Taeyong was told to do, and definitely his style. At least, it would have to be.

All around him rang out garbled cries of pain and instruction. Yuta heard the _whiz_ of bullets flying over him and felt the reverberation of the air in the room as they cut through it. The boombox on the floor was still playing music – a song that Yuta couldn’t place, especially because it was distorted by “Tonite” by the Go-Go’s blaring even louder out of Johnny’s car. 

_Who all is here?_ Yuta wondered. Doyoung, clearly, and Johnny too, he imagined considering the choice of car. _What about Taeyong?_

In the space of less than a minute, the air stilled and the only sound left was the two songs on top of each other. Yuta felt his heart beating like a galloping horse in his chest as it exerted itself. He wondered if his body could go into clinical shock from a broken hand. All he could see was a dusty floor in the nearly empty space, and the image had an eerie horror to it as he realized he had no way of telling who was alive and who was dead. Did he dare speak? 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to, as Johnny came to crouch in front of him, Glock in his right hand and suit somehow impeccable. 

“ _Shategashira_ , holy shit, are you okay?” he said, and he looked worried when Yuta smiled at him. “I hope that’s a yes.”

Yuta started to feel faint, but he kept his smile up so as not to scare Johnny. He worried he’d have to refrain from passing out. “I am now,” he finally answered, looking down at his hand which had gone nearly black with bruising. _I hope_ , he added silently. 

“We need to get you out of these ropes,” said Johnny, pulling a knife from his pocket and sawing at the golden coils until the sprung open one by one. 

“Taeyong,” said Yuta, summoning his last bit of urgency, “do you have Taeyong?”

Johnny breathed a laugh as a shout reverberated from somewhere outside the room. Yuta watched Doyoung, Taeil, and Dejun slip out the door, guns leading them, to deal with whatever was coming their way. 

“He’s here,” Johnny answered almost delicately, slicing through the last few layers of rope and getting ready to help Yuta to his feet. “You’ll see him in a minute.” 

He’d only confirmed what he already suspected, but knowing for certain that Taeyong was safe made Yuta forget the pain coursing through him, replacing it briefly with a warm glow. That alone was worth it. 

Yuta stumbled to his feet with Johnny’s support and the two of them cursed softly as gunshots rang out in quick succession elsewhere in the building. They sounded like they were just on the other side of the door.

Yuta hoped beyond hope that there weren’t many other Yamaguchi members there to fight, but he figured not when the shooting stopped a moment later. Unless, his mind interjected, his men had been the ones going down.

Standing, Yuta was better able to process what was happening around him: In front of him lay Purple Suit’s dead body and Isamu, prone on the floor with Kunhang and Yangyang pointing guns at him and stepping on his back and head respectively to keep him down. To his left, Johnny’s car was where it had been when it barreled through the garage door earlier, covered in a thin layer of rubble. Parked behind it though, Yuta now noticed, was Taeil’s BMW. Yuta realized that the second car was the real source of the music. Based on the color of the sky outside, it had to be evening. 

Most importantly, Yuta saw Taeyong. He leaned against the side of Johnny’s orange Honda with a pistol in his hands and smiled, bittersweet, like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Either one, though, would have been out of happiness. 

Yuta ran to him and they wrapped themselves around each other in a silent hug. It was so comfortable between them; Yuta wanted to melt away into the idea of that embrace and never have to worry again about the terror that came with having a physical form.

“Hi,” Taeyong murmured. “I literally could not be happier to see you.”

Yuta let out a single, pinched sob, and Taeyong ran a hand over his back to comfort him. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” Yuta managed to get out. 

“Oh, good, Yuta’s up and about,” Yuta heard Taeil say from behind him and he wheeled around, trying not to let his stomach drop at the way Taeyong’s eyes went wide at the sight of his limp hand. Taeil had a brutally battered Yamaguchi member by the collar, the man’s hands above his head and eye sockets swollen yellow and green. Behind them trailed Doyoung and Dejun. Dejun tittered cautiously about his partner and Yuta quickly noticed why: Doyoung’s left arm was streaming blood over the blue and red plaid of his sleeve from a gash on his bicep. _A bullet wound_.

“Is it all clear?” came Jungwoo’s voice from Taeil’s front seat. Yuta startled, wondering exactly how many people had come to save him.

“Sure thing!” Kunhang yelled from inside the warehouse. Yuta looked around, taking in, as he had imagined, a concrete lot that was empty save a few shipping crates, brick warehouses, and something that looked like an aircraft hangar. Tokyo’s glittering lights sparkled on the horizon like an oasis. 

Jungwoo rose tentatively from the driver’s side door, pouting and looking around like he wanted to ask a question. 

“Yes, Jungwoo,” Johnny clarified, standing off to the side and surveying the entire situation, “it’s all clear.”

“Why didn’t you help out?” Yuta accused Jungwoo jokingly, suppressing a wince at a new burst of agony from his hand which Taeyong _definitely_ caught. 

Jungwoo looked affronted. “I’m the getaway driver!” he asserted. “I can’t put myself in the line of fire; I need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice! Besides, everyone else handled it quite nicely.” He pulled a small revolver from his pocket, gesturing with it with just a little too much animation, as he tended to do with weapons in general, Yuta had learned over the years. “I do have this though,” he continued, “just in case!”

“We handled it well,” Taeil interjected, shooting the boombox until it was too damaged to play and “Mirror in the Bathroom” by the English Beat coming from the BMW was the only melody in the air. “But we’ve still got two wounded. And these weren’t their best men.”

Doyoung waved Taeil off as they approached the cars with Dejun, Taeil’s captive stumbling along beside him. Doyoung still had his right hand clasped over the wound, though. “I’ll be fine,” he continued, “But I could use a tourniquet.”

“Got it!” Jungwoo said, scrambling for the first aid kit in the car and emerging with a long, thick elastic band as Taeil manhandled the terrified Yamaguchi prisoner into his trunk. Jungwoo came around the two cars to Doyoung and instructed him to lean against Johnny’s Honda as he tied the band around either side of the bullet. Doyoung winced between soft assertions that, no, no he was just fine; “don’t worry about little old me.” 

“I actually thought Yuta-san would be more beat up than he is,” Dejun observed, meaning to be cheery. 

Yuta frowned. “Well if you’d come a second later, I wouldn’t have a hand. But thanks for being just in time, really.”

Doyoung gaped when he noticed the state of Yuta’s hand. _I know, I know_ , Yuta wanted to say. He wondered how long he had until the painkiller of adrenaline wore away and the real brutal anguish set in.

“Goddamn,” Doyoung murmured, concern coating his face like paint as he seemed to forget that anything was wrong with his arm. “Is – is it gonna be alright?”

Yuta swallowed thickly, feeling a cutting guilt at the way Taeyong was staring him down, looking like there was an electricity storm roiling in his mind. He laughed to clear the tension.

“I really hope so. I can still move it a little. I think it looks worse than it is.”

“It looks dead, _Shategashira_ ,” Doyoung asserted. 

A cry came from Taeil’s trunk and Johnny calmly opened the back door of his own car, picking a baseball bat up off the floor and strolling over to the BMW’s trunk. He smacked his palm down on it and the wailing stopped. Then, he opened it and held the bat over his head. Yuta could hear the man within whimpering. 

“Now, I don’t want to hear anything else from you tonight, alright?” he said, voice mockingly saccharine. “Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt?” The whimpers turned into something like “mm-hm, mm-hm.”

“Good.” And with that, Johnny slammed the trunk closed again. 

“We need to get you two to the safehouse,” Taeil said to Yuta and Doyoung. “I’ll call Kun and tell him to meet us there.” 

“Okay,” said Yuta and Doyoung in unison. 

Taeil redirected his attention to the interior of the breached room where Yuta had been held. “Kunhang? Yangyang?” he called.

“Yes, sir?” came Yangyang’s voice, but he remained out of sight. Smoke and dust still hung in the air inside.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Oh, just fuckin’ with this guy a little bit,” answered Kunhang this time. 

Taeil nodded slowly. “Alright. Well, can you do that somewhere where we can see you? Preferably not for much longer?”

“Yeah sure.” 

The two young men dragged Isamu between them until they were framed by the busted-up garage door leading into the room. 

“What do we do with him?” Yangyang asked, looking to Yuta, but before he could answer, he felt Taeyong stiffen next to him. He looked over to see what was wrong. Taeyong frowned as he fixed his eyes on Isamu, unwavering in the way that usually indicated someone lost in a memory. When Yuta’s gaze trailed back to Kunhang and Yangyang’s abused captive, he was horrified to see a smirk of recognition on Isamu’s lips. Everyone else seemed to pick this up too, looking curiously between the two men. Yuta heard the soft clacking of his friends gripping their weapons, Taeyong included. 

“Are – are you…” Taeyong trailed off with a breath.

“Isamu? From the Spectors? Yeah, that’s me.” _What the fuck was going on? The Spectors? Like those Bosozoku hooligans?_

“I remember you too,” Isamu continued, laughing cruelly as Taeyong’s breath hitched. “I always suspected you were a fucking fruit on top of everything else.” Isamu spat heftily and Taeyong’s face twitched in cold irritation. 

“Taeyong,” Johnny interjected, “what’s going on?”

Taeyong’s eyes flickered to Yuta, and Yuta’s face went soft, pleading for an answer. 

Taeyong took a step forward, moving gingerly, Yuta noted. 

“ _Shategashira_ ,” he began, staring ahead at Isamu, “do you remember the day you asked me to be your partner? You’d been helping me work on my target practice, and you told me to picture someone I hated; someone I wanted truly dead. Do you remember that?”

Yuta nodded as a fresh pulse of hurt swelled from his hand to his arm. His eyes watered, whether it was at the sensation or at Taeyong’s words, he couldn’t tell. Probably a bit of both. 

“Yes, Taeyong,” he assured. “I remember.” 

“Well, this is him. This is who I pictured.”

Yuta’s blood ran cold. The cool evening breeze was no longer refreshing; it was icy. 

“Oh,” was all he managed to say.

Kunhang and Yangyang looked at each other as the man on his knees between them glared unwaveringly up at Taeyong.

“Yuta?” Yangyang pressed. “What do we do?”

Yuta let out a small cough. “Uh, Johnny?” he began. “Do you have any need for more than one prisoner?”

Johnny sighed, a soft smile gracing his lips, then he shrugged. “Well there’s not much space in my trunk anyway,” he remarked. “I don’t reckon I do.”

“Okay.” Yuta nodded. “Taeyong, what do _you_ want to do?”

“I get to decide?” Taeyong asked, voice quavering as his hand fidgeted around his revolver.

“Sooner rather than later,” Taeil called. 

Taeyong turned around and everyone froze in their places; rocked a little by what they saw. 

He looked like he was about to burst into tears, but underneath that was an anger and a meanness so much darker than Yuta had ever seen in his boyfriend. Sometimes he forgot that Taeyong wasn’t entirely new to this whole world. This was not one of those times. 

Taeyong made eye contact with Yuta and turned back around before Yuta could say anything to his face. Yuta didn’t know if he’d even had anything to say. Then, Taeyong poised his gun right at Isamu and everyone held a collective breath.

“I dare you,” Isamu said, calm. “I don’t think you’ll do it, but you can always prove me wrong.” 

Yuta looked on as Taeyong trembled. He wished he could see what was happening on Taeyong’s face. 

“I bet you’ve been hoping this day would come, hm?” Isamu snarled. “Do it. I would.”

“Taeyong,” Yuta began, and everyone turned to look at him; everyone but the man he was speaking to. “You don’t have to.” Yuta knew this day would come – that if they were going to continue working together, eventually Taeyong would need to kill someone – but it still scared him, especially since he had placed the seed of this thought in Taeyong’s head to begin with. 

“I know,” Taeyong responded, voice breaking. Then, he shot, and Yuta held his breath in shock. Between his hand and this, he was lucky he didn’t pass out. 

After a few beats, Isamu was yet to hit the ground, so everyone squinted to get a better look at what had happened; why he wasn’t dead at point-blank range. Blood started to soak in his shirt, fast and bright red, starting at his left shoulder. _It hadn’t been a shot to kill_.

Taeyong shook in the crisp air. Kunhang and Yangyang exchanged a glance, evidently still confused about what to do with Isamu, and Taeyong turned back to face the rest of the group, taking a few strides as he wiped tears from his eyes. He didn’t get very far, though. 

“I knew it.” The remark came from Isamu. He panted raggedly around these words, but they dripped nonetheless with contempt and pride. “Cowardly, like always. Haven’t changed a bit.”

Yuta could have sworn that Taeyong made fierce eye contact with him for less than a split-second right before spinning around and shooting again. Yuta flinched at the action and Kunhang and Yangyang each hopped away from the man they had been restraining. A new poppy-like bloom was growing on Isamu’s upper body now, the bullet hole over his heart the corolla, and the blood seeping from it in a ring the petals. Isamu clutched at the wound for a moment, silently opening and closing his mouth and moving his head like an android about to malfunction. After that moment, he collapsed into the floor in front of him. 

Yuta watched Taeyong watch Isamu die. Taeyong turned to face Yuta, looking at him in distress as his eyes drained tears like a faucet being turned on. It was apparently too much for him, all the emotion, because he folded in on himself to crouch on the ground, dropping his gun in the dirt and placing his hands over his head. Yeah, Yuta had known this moment would come eventually. That didn’t mean he was prepared for it. 

Yuta ran forward and recovered Taeyong to his feet, pulling him in and whispering comforting nonsense as he watched everything spin into motion around them.

Dejun asked Johnny what to do with the bodies lying around the warehouse. 

“Leave them as a warning,” Johnny said, hopping into the driver’s seat of his car and motioning to the three young Triads. “Come on, you all. I’m taking you back to headquarters.” 

“Let’s go,” Taeil said, tapping Yuta on the back. “We don’t have time for this. We need to get you to the safehouse so you can receive medical treatment.” 

Yuta nodded as Jungwoo, Taeil, and Doyoung piled into the BMW. The sound of their doors slamming made Taeyong flinch against him. _Is there anything I could do to sooth him?_ Yuta petted over Taeyong’s hair with his good hand and shushed him softly. He still couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed, but then again, he was in no position to judge. 

“Baby? Taeyong?” he ventured, eyes tracking Johnny’s orange car as it backed out of its unorthodox parking spot through the Yamaguchi-gumi building’s garage door. Taeyong pulled away, eyes closed, and nodded his head in understanding. Yuta took Taeyong’s hand in his still functional one and led him to the car, taking the window seat while Taeyong sat between him and Doyoung; the wounded sandwiching the traumatized. 

Jungwoo had turned down the music, but it was still playing. Jungwoo, Yuta noted, had very on the nose taste, as he listened to the opening notes of the Specials’ “Gangsters.” 

Yuta tried to fashion a makeshift sling to support his hand, rolling it up in his shirt, but that didn’t seem to do anything but make it hurt worse. He sighed. Doyoung sighed. Taeyong just sat there shaking but attempting not to jostle either of his injured companions. Yuta let his left hand graze over Taeyong’s thigh in an attempt to calm him down. 

Jungwoo started the engine and followed after Johnny, whose car hitched awkwardly and left a trail of rubble and small metal parts in its wake. 

“That can’t be good,” Jungwoo said mildly, trying to diffuse the tension. “You could probably fix that up, huh, Taeyong?”

“Mm-hm,” Taeyong responded, tight-lipped. Yuta glanced at the man beside him, concern swelling within him as he noticed more tears beading in Taeyong’s eyes. They fell with the release of a squeaky, stifled sound, and pretty soon Yuta realized Taeyong was half-laughing and half-crying all at once. 

Yuta caught Jungwoo’s concerned look in the rearview mirror. He shrugged with his eyes. 

“Aiiish, I’m glad you killed that guy,” Doyoung stated bluntly, resting his head against the back window and grimacing every time the car jostled even the slightest bit.

Taeyong let out a few more high-pitched hits of laughter before he collected himself, sniffling.

“He was an asshole,” Doyoung continued, “and I don’t know what history you have but I could tell it was meaningful. It’s good for a first kill to be meaningful.”

Yuta really hoped Doyoung’s little speech was helping Taeyong. He couldn’t tell yet as he watched his boyfriend cautiously. If not, he would need to beat Doyoung’s ass. 

Taeyong nodded, attention fixated on picking at his cuticles. Yuta moved his hand from Taeyong’s thigh and threaded his fingers instead through Taeyong’s. Taeyong squeezed softly. _Signs of life_ , Yuta thought to himself, _thank goodness_. 

“That guy was in a Bosozoku gang I kind of followed around as a teenager,” Taeyong explained, voice filling out. “He beat me when I asked to join; tried to kill me.” 

“Jesus,” Doyoung cursed softly at the revelation. 

“Why did you try to join the Bosozoku?” Taeil asked, picking up the car phone to dial Kun. Before Taeyong could answer, Jungwoo was piping in. 

“Ey, ey, ey, now, no blaming the victim!”

“I don’t think that’s what I’m doing, I’m just curious,” Taeil argued. “But alright point taken. Kun? Yeah, are you free?”

“He’s right,” Taeyong sniffled for the rest of the car to hear. “I was stupid…”

Yuta slowly realized as they drove that he had been taken somewhere near the shores of the Bōsō Peninsula. They would need to drive the 80 or so kilometers around Tokyo Bay. _This is going to take a little while_ , Yuta thought, so he would need to breathe through the pain and keep his mind elsewhere. That worked well for the duration of Taeil’s phone call with Kun, but it fell apart soon after. Injuries, Yuta knew, were as much mental as physical, and the way their sensations always ebbed and flowed for him was a mind game he never looked forward to playing. One moment, he was listening to the phone click into the receiver and trying to relax his boyfriend. The next, he was folding himself in half over his knees, rocking like a child and unable to think of anything but the pressure and heat in his broken hand; the way things seemed to snap within it whenever it had the misfortune of moving. 

“Eeeaaaarrgghhhh!” Yuta cried, startling Jungwoo at the wheel. 

“ _Shategashira_? Yuta, baby, can you look at me?” Taeyong rubbed a hand over Yuta’s back as Doyoung looked on in concern. 

Yuta panted, wrenching his head to the side and pulling in breath after shaky breath. 

“Only another half hour or so,” Taeil assured almost frantically. “You’ll get through it just fine.”

Yuta nodded and curled into Taeyong’s lap. The car’s motion threatened to make him sick, so he closed his eyes, groaning as the pain subsided slightly. 

“Talk to me,” Yuta implored. 

Taeyong set his hands on Yuta’s arms. “Oh, okay,” he said. “What about?”

“Why’d you stay by the car, Taeyong?” Yuta asked. He hoped it didn’t come out sounding accusatory. In fact, he’d been beyond pleased that Taeyong hadn’t gone too far into the fray. 

“I – well,” Taeyong stammered.

Doyoung cut in to clarify. “You see, _Shategashira_. He’s still kind of inexperienced and we didn’t want him getting overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Taeyong confirmed.

“Also,” Doyoung continued, and Yuta thought he felt Taeyong flinch, “we noticed that he was, I don’t know how else to put this, limping just the tiniest bit.”

Yuta heard Jungwoo and Taeil snicker. He tried to stamp down the dirty pride that he felt glowing inside him. 

“Is that so?” he asked, voice trembling but tone confident as ever. 

“Indeed,” Doyoung went on, obviously trying to mortify Taeyong out of his grim stupor. “I don’t suppose you would know what that’s all about, _Shategashira_?”

Yuta laughed. “Nope,” he teased. “That’s very curious.” He felt Taeyong pulling at his hair. That meant _cut it out_ , didn’t it? 

“Anyway,” said Doyoung, “we didn’t think he was really in a state to be running around fighting people, but he insisted on coming along, so we told him he could be backup. And look at what happened, he ended up getting his first kill. On an old foe, no less!”

Yuta pulled himself up. The pain having gone down a bit allowed him to relax into Taeyong’s side. They snuck a glance at each other and Taeyong smiled softly, looking much more himself than before. Yuta felt a tightness in his chest knowing that Taeyong had advocated for himself to come and be in danger on Yuta’s behalf, but he couldn’t exactly place it. He figured it probably boiled down to a combination of gratitude and concern. 

The rest of the car ride to Edogawa passed similarly. Taeil explained to Yuta how they had found him: they’d brought their leads to Jaemin, Jeno, and Jisung, since those three were the best informants on Yamaguchi-gumi business. They’d never heard of anyone named Nobu, so that was a dead end, but more importantly, they knew where to find the warehouse Yamaguchi took interrogation subjects when they needed a secondary location. And Yuta’s was definitely a case for a secondary location, since with Taeyong’s escape, Inagawa knew almost immediately that Yuta was missing, so taking him to Yamaguchi’s headquarters would have only provoked a standoff. 

Yuta thought through the timeline of events in his head. He must have been abducted somewhere in the ballpark of three a.m., and Taeil’s dash clock said it was just after five p.m. Yuta thanked heaven he’d taken so long to wake up, otherwise the interrogation would have started earlier and it would have been bye-bye right hand. 

Yuta told his friends what the Yamaguchi-gumi men had asked of him, and that they were confident they could break into the meeting despite all their current setbacks. 

“I’ll make a report to _Oyabun_ ,” Taeil assured. “That way there’ll be a meeting about it tomorrow.”

Doyoung bonked his head softly against the side window. The tourniquet was obviously doing him some good because most of the blood on his arm had dried and crusted over a deep eggplant color. 

“Goro’s not gonna like this,” he lamented.

***

“This is where I spent last night,” Taeyong explained as the occupants of Taeil’s car walked into the safehouse flat in Edogawa. 

Yuta was frankly a bit overwhelmed by just how much was going on in the apartment. Momo and Sana sat on either side of the dining table in the kitchen, the remains of homemade yakisoba between them; and in the living room on the left, Jeno, Donghyuck, Renjun, and Chenle watched rowdily as Jisung and Jaemin battled each other in ‘Robot Tank’ on an Atari 2600 console. 

The two women stood when they noticed Yuta and his men, Momo letting out a cry of relief. She ran to Yuta and narrowly avoided tackling him in a hug as Taeyong looked on, a slow smile warming his features. 

“Oh my god, you’re okay!” she rejoiced. Yuta winced and she pulled away, catching a glimpse of his injury. “What happened to your hand?”

“It’s fine – it’s a little broken – it’s nothing,” Yuta spluttered. He didn’t want her to worry. He didn’t want anyone to worry for him, even though there was so much to worry about. 

“It’s Yuta-san!” yelled Jeno, the first to yank his attention from the game on the TV screen. The boys all turned around. Donghyuck looked like he was going to faint. 

“Oh my god, we’re saved!” he said, holding his arms over his head in victory and crashing back into the couch cushions. Yuta chuckled. He knew those boys would have been in deep shit if they’d gotten their intel wrong. The knowledge weighed on him. 

The rest of them smiled warmly, calling some variation on “hey _Shategashira_ ,” in greeting. 

“Where’s Kun?” Doyoung asked Momo. 

“Oh right – my goodness and you’re injured too!” Momo turned towards the bedroom in back and motioned for everyone to follow her. “He’s right this way.”

As the group passed the kitchen, Yuta caught Taeyong making understanding eye contact with Sana. They smiled at each other. Right, Yuta thought, those two must feel some sort of fateful kinship. 

“When you said you’d take me to a safehouse,” Sana grumbled jokingly, “I imagined sad solitude, and I was prepared for that. I was _not_ prepared for obnoxious tattooed men around me at all hours of the day!”

“It won’t be for much longer,” Momo chided, ushering Yuta, Doyoung, Taeil, Jungwoo, and Taeyong into the room where Kun had his medical supplies. “By the way, does anyone need anything to eat?”

Yuta thought about it for a moment but declined. Maybe it was the dread in the pit of his stomach, or all the gore he’d witnessed in the last few hours, but he couldn’t find any appetite within him.

***

Yuta stared at the splint that Kun had affixed to his hand. As he’d expected, the damage wasn’t irreversible. It would take a while to heal, Kun had said, but it would heal, nonetheless. Yuta tried flexing his hand as Taeyong leaned over his shoulder with a sanitary wipe, disinfecting the long gash on his neck. Yuta gasped at the cold sting and Taeyong mumbled his apologies. 

“Can you move it at all in that thing?” Mark asked. He was sitting on the bed next to Yuta – the same bed Taeyong had slept in the night before. Yuta shook his head ruefully. 

A cry rang out from between the room’s two futons, and the three men turned to the source of the sound. Kun had Doyoung perched on the stool he was using as his doctor’s chair, extracting a bullet from Doyoung’s arm with a metal instrument. Jungwoo sat on Sana’s bed on the far side of them, watching through the hands he had pressed to his face in horror. Doyoung panted. 

“I’m fine!” he yelled once he’d recovered a bit. 

Kun turned around with a reassuring smile. “He’s fine!”

“So,” Mark said as Taeyong moved on to tending the bruises and cuts on Yuta’s face, “Taeil’s letting _Oyabun_ know what happened?”

“Yeah,” Yuta answered. “We’re having a _Sokaiya_ meeting tomorrow morning.”

Yuta sighed, looking over to where Kun was just finishing wrapping Doyoung’s arm in a bandage. Doyoung stood and left the room, swinging his arm experimentally and trying to reassure a distraught Jungwoo. Yuta didn’t have the words to describe how little he looked forward to the next day. 

“Are you worried?” Mark pressed. Yuta pushed through the nerves in his gut with a smile and poked Mark in his ribs, making his young friend double over. 

“Mark-kun,” he chided playfully, “of course I’m worried! Aish, you and your silly questions all the time.”

“ _Gomen, gomen_ ,” Mark apologized between huffs of laughter. 

Taeyong leaned down so he was face to face with Yuta, swiping some soothing balm on his cheek. “What are you gonna say?” he asked. 

Yuta swallowed. “I’ll tell the truth: that I think we need to re-strategize and that – that maybe I shouldn’t be a part of it anymore.” 

Yuta’s heart clenched at the disappointment on Taeyong’s face. Taeyong’s eyes shifted to where Kun was almost done cleaning and packing up his first aid supplies. 

“Mark, Kun,” Taeyong began, catching the attention of both men and sounding unusually authoritative, “I’d like to have a word with Yuta, alone, whenever you get the chance.” 

Mark stood up and Kun packed faster. “Sure,” Mark replied, and he slipped out of the room, eyes locking questioningly with Yuta’s for just a moment. Kun followed soon after, closing the door on his way out.

Taeyong stared at Yuta for a little longer than was comfortable. No doubt, Yuta reasoned, he was still shaken from his run-in with Isamu. 

“Taeyong, what’s this about?” he asked. 

Taeyong placed a tiny bandage over a cut on Yuta’s forehead. “Why did you tell me I didn’t have to do it?” he asked. 

“Wait, what?” Yuta asked, his mind taking a moment to catch up to Taeyong’s grievance. 

“Why did you tell me I didn’t have to do it?” Taeyong repeated, standing up straight _. He’s talking about killing Isamu_ , Yuta’s mind filled in for him. Taeyong went on. “I knew I didn’t have to. I haven’t felt forced into anything so far, except maybe joining in the first place, and I certainly haven’t felt forced into anything with you.” 

Yuta was a little taken aback, but at least now with the pain meds Kun had given him, he could focus on the matter at hand. 

“I –” he stammered, “I didn’t mean that to upset you. I just…he was goading you, and I didn’t want you to do anything you’d regret.” 

Taeyong scoffed, turning to sit next to Yuta. “It’s too late for that,” he said. 

Yuta frowned. He was already worried, but Taeyong’s attitude was threatening to send him over a cliff of angst. “What do you mean?” he asked. A corner of his mind nagged him: what if this is the part where he gets abandoned again? He knew it was crazy – that Taeyong wouldn’t have risked his own safety to help rescue him only to walk away. But still, that fear was there. 

“I mean,” Taeyong said with a huff, “I’ve already fucked up. I let them take you. And now, it could get bad. Momo will try to advocate for me, but she doesn’t control her dad. On top of that, she said I might have to flee the country if Yamaguchi comes after me. I don’t know what to do!” Yuta tried to just listen as Taeyong paused to let out a few tears. “And now you might not be able to go to the meeting, and that’ll jeopardize your place in the syndicate, and, and it’s all because of me –”

“Stop.” Yuta placed a finger over Taeyong’s mouth, the frantic man’s eyes going wild. 

“Stop?”

Yuta nodded. “Take a minute and breathe, alright baby?”

Taeyong nodded quickly, following Yuta’s instructions. Yuta had to admit, as much as it hurt him to see Taeyong so broken up, he was relieved by how much he seemed to care. “Now,” he went on, “keep talking through it. Unless you don’t want to”

“Okay.” Yuta watched Taeyong intently as the couple tears which had leaked from his eyes began to dry. “You know how I told you I liked when you marked me up because it makes me think of you?” Yuta nodded, trying to disguise the fact that this had not been at all where he expected Taeyong to go with this. “Well this time it was a curse. Every time I winced from moving, I remembered that you were gone, and that it was my fault, and it felt like there was someone holding me down with a boot on my head, I was so terrified. I know it was only for one day, but that only made it worse! I realized this could happen again – only for longer – and it made me so sick. What if I never saw you again? What if I got you killed?”

Yuta swallowed with much effort. “Listen,” he said, placing his hand and his splint around both of Taeyong’s fists, “I have to be honest with you, that when you said you wanted to join permanently, I was happy.” Taeyong smiled, laughing through his tears. Yuta went on. “I thought it meant you’d be less likely to leave me. That being said, it also made me scared. This is dangerous business, and I know you know that, but I don’t want you putting yourself in harm’s way all because of me. It’s sickening to me too.”

Taeyong frowned. “That’s literally my job, though,” he protested. “Also, all because of you? You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I could have been more careful,” Yuta offered. “Then you wouldn’t have felt the need to come play savior.”

Taeyong pulled his hands away, and Yuta knew deep down he’d hurt him. 

“Play savior?” Taeyong repeated, voice low and indignant. “That’s not what I was doing. You assume I can’t handle myself. If we get through this, you’re eventually going to need to learn that you can’t protect me all the time. I’m willing to take on that risk.”

Yuta pulled his gaze away from Taeyong with a sigh. He didn’t know if _he_ was ready to take it on though. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.” 

Taeyong laughed, but the sound was tinged with disappointment. “Yes, you did.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” Yuta admitted, “but it wasn’t meant to hurt you – just to snap you into reality a little bit.”

Yuta prepared for more frustration, but it didn’t come. 

“I’m sorry too,” Taeyong said.

Yuta furrowed his brow, fingers glancing across his bandaged hand. “For what?”

“For being a distraction. For failing to keep my head above water. I just – I realized after you were taken that I’d let this all pull me in so fast that I’d lost control. I put you in danger selfishly by letting you sneak me around and pulling you away from focusing on your work.”

It sounded like Taeyong was about to break things off. _What on earth was he getting at?_

“Taeyong, I’m going to need you to slow down again,” said Yuta. Taeyong froze. “I think I know what you mean,” Yuta admitted, “and it’s less your responsibility than I imagine you realize. I let it happen. I, well, I pulled you in. I just – I like you so much and I’m used to people not wanting to stick with me for a whole slew of reasons. I thought, once I’d made the decision to pursue this, that we had to move quickly and do everything all at once otherwise you would slip through my fingers. Like the longer I waited the less time we’d have if something went bad.”

Taeyong dug his nails into each other harshly. “And now things have gone bad,” he remarked. 

Yuta nodded. “Yeah, a little bit. But it might still work out. Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t worry about the future. We control what we can control in the moment, and the rest is up to luck.”

Taeyong nodded, tearful and sniffling. “You’re right.” 

“Come here?” Yuta wrapped Taeyong up in his arms and pulled them both back against the futon. In another life, they would have been normal people with normal jobs, and this might have been their apartment. There would have been wine stains in the floor instead of blood. “You know what?” Yuta said.

“Hm?”

“Personally, I don’t regret any of it.”

Taeyong laughed against Yuta’s chest. “That’s because you made it out alive.”

“Maybe so,” Yuta allowed, “but if I was dead, I wouldn’t regret it either. Since I’d be dead.”

Taeyong giggled again. “No more talk of death please, smart-guy.”

Yuta looked at the ceiling, eyes following the slow blades of a wooden fan. “Fair enough.” 

Taeyong dropped a soft kiss to Yuta’s chest, over the blood and sweat-stained fabric of Yuta’s outfit from the night before. Taeyong looked up at Yuta. 

“We should probably get you a change of clothes.” 

Yuta laughed at that. “That would be much-appreciated,” he acknowledged. Then, he pouted, running one of his still functional fingers over his bruised cheek. “You did a good job fixing me up, Yonggie, but could you do me one last favor?”

Taeyong inched closer to Yuta’s face. “Anything for you, _Shategashira_.”

Yuta tried hard not to crack up at Taeyong’s exaggeratedly sultry facial expression. He made doe eyes to contrast it. “Kiss it better?” 

Just as Yuta had hoped, Taeyong melted, leaning over and pressing soft, soft, soft kisses first onto Taeyong’s swollen cheek, then over each of the little gashes he had elsewhere on his face which Taeyong had worked to clean and patch up. It tickled. Taeyong ducked his head to kiss the thick bandage on Yuta’s neck, then to top it all off, he kissed the end of each of the fingers on Yuta’s damaged hand. Yuta watched in silence, feeling his heart break for the thousandth time since he’d met Taeyong. 

“There,” said Taeyong. “All better?”

Yuta nodded. “I think so.”

Taeyong sighed. “So, am I to accompany you tomorrow? To the _Sokaiya_ meeting?”

 _Did he really want to discuss that now?_ “I don’t know yet, Taeyong,” Yuta responded. “Can we talk about something else for now? I’m sorry.”

“I let you apologize to me a second ago because it was warranted,” Taeyong said. “But my previous observation still stands: you say sorry to me too much. If you don’t want to talk about it now, we won’t talk about it now. It’s as simple as that.”

“Thanks.” Yuta kicked his legs around, indicating to Taeyong to shift so he could pull the blankets up over both of them. It was difficult for him with only one hand though, so Taeyong had to help, snuggling into him once they were under the warm but staticky synthetic fleece. “How did you and Momo get on?” Yuta asked, trying to think of something – anything – to talk about that wouldn’t lead to death or ruin. 

“Well, we didn’t get to talk that much,” Taeyong hedged, “but she’s really lovely. She said she cares about me because you care about me.”

Yuta nodded. “She’s a very loyal person. I’ll try to get you around each other more.”

“Yeah,” Taeyong agreed. “It was just a little hard with me in a total tizzy. Also with Sana here.”

The comment made Yuta frown in confusion. _Was he saying…?_ “How’s that?”

Taeyong giggled. “Well,” he said, “I can’t be completely sure, but they’ve kinda been flirting, I think.”

Yuta grinned. _That’s perfect_ , he thought to himself, _Sana of all people_ . _Crazy how those things work out._

“Yuta?”

“Brilliant,” he said, beaming. “You know when I met you, I started to worry I’d be the only one going into this cover-story marriage with a real romantic partner to come home to.”

Taeyong snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Yuta didn’t know if Taeyong was referring to Sana and Momo or to their own relationship, but either way he was correct, and Yuta couldn’t bring himself to ask. If this much had changed in five weeks, imagine how much could change between then and the wedding.

“You’re right,” Yuta conceded. There was a long silence where he could hear dishes being washed and pixelated robots being destroyed to a chorus of yells. Then, he heard quick footsteps approaching the bedroom door right before it slid open. It was Renjun, Chenle, and Jisung. 

“Hey, Yuta-san,” Chenle began, cutting himself off with a shriek when he saw the two men snuggling within. Renjun just shook his head. 

“I knew it,” he said. 

Yuta sighed in exasperation. “What did I say about knocking?” he chided. Before either Chenle or Renjun could answer, Jisung was interjecting. 

“I am so sorry, sir, we just wanted to ask if we could all spend a night here,” he spluttered as Chenle mimed puking. Yuta noticed that Taeyong had his head hidden under the covers now. 

“Ask Momo,” Yuta instructed sternly, like a dad telling his kids to go ask their mother. “She’s in charge of this place.”

The door closed with another request from Jisung to please excuse his new friends’ behavior. Once the boys were gone and assuming Taeyong was just embarrassed, Yuta began apologizing profusely for the interruption; so profusely in fact, that Yuta worried he’d be scolded again – so profusely that Yuta almost didn’t hear when Taeyong said,

“I killed someone today, Yuta.” 

He felt a tear drop onto his shirt. It felt like it was seeping directly into him, constricting his muscles with its salt. He pulled the covers down to reveal Taeyong’s face. His expression was cold and something about the hollowness in his voice echoed within Yuta. He remembered having that same realization years earlier, and he wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, especially not the angelic boy in his arms. But, he reminded his impulse to protect, he had to give Taeyong the space to make decisions for himself, even if doing so led to situations such as this. It was what had been asked of him. 

“I know, love,” Yuta said as Taeyong looked up at him, face unreadable. “You’ll get used to it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading as usual!  
> If you're interested, my [friend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoTheBuckIsStucky/pseuds/WhoTheBuckIsStucky) and I are currently doing an NCT hanahaki AU [series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842625) that I'm pretty psyched about!


	11. Week VI pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just going to pop another quick reminder here about heeding tags for violence, death, and homophobia :) 
> 
> Also this chapter and the last chapter will be dual perspective for reasons so "***" = new scene like always but "///" = new perspective
> 
> (Also, how about that SuperM, hm?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Japanese (new words this chapter only!):  
> Yubitsume - yakuza ritual of cutting fingers for atonement or punishment  
> Otosama - very formal version of 'father'  
> Hanko - personalized stamp people use in Japan in lieu of signatures

_You’ll get used to it._ Taeyong repeated what Yuta had told him over and over again over the course of the night. The words elicited a general horror within him, but he had trouble pinpointing anything more specific than that. He thought he’d done a good job of getting through to Yuta about giving him some space to do his job, but that hadn’t clarified to him exactly what his job was supposed to be. That, he imagined, would become clearer once he was given an official role in the syndicate. If he was given an official role, that is. 

The truth was, Taeyong had utterly terrified himself. He’d gotten in his fair share of scraps before – some more successful than others – and he’d even shot someone a couple weeks ago. He was acquainted with the unassumingly violent impulse within him – it was what had driven him towards gangsterism his whole life (well, that and lack of opportunity, but the two went hand in hand). But this was different: he hadn’t known he was capable of killing an unarmed prisoner. Sure, that prisoner had tried to murder _him_ first, but when the tables were turned it was so scary, and it had undoubtedly frightened Yuta to watch. 

But what Taeyong hadn’t told Yuta yet, and what he hardly knew how to articulate to himself, was that he’d _liked it_. He’d liked watching Isamu die; liked the give of the gun in his hand firing so cleanly, so perfectly in the cold air; liked that it made him feel powerful if only for a split second. 

Taeyong pressed his weight down into his mechanic’s creeper to slide himself out from under Johnny’s car. He swiped his sleeve over his face, removing some grease and trying not to think about how tender his backside still felt. He cursed himself for having such impractical turn-ons. 

It was already early December, but the weather had remained mild, so Taeyong barely even noticed that the Inagawa-kai’s preferred auto shop (read, the one they were currently extorting) chose to keep its garage doors open onto the street, letting in the cool-toned winter sun. 

Taeyong sat up, taking a swig of water from his canteen and softly mouthing the words to “ _Mou Ichido_ Fall in Love” by Miki Matsubara as it played from his boombox. Despite it being a bit physically uncomfortable in his state, fixing up machines was still a therapeutic process for Taeyong, so he hadn’t minded at all when Jungwoo had come to collect him as the sun was rising, asking if he still wouldn’t mind taking a look at Johnny’s Honda. In fact, he’d been happy to do it, as it was a means of repaying Johnny for dragging him along on the rescue mission and because it would distract him from thinking about the potentially catastrophic consequences of the meeting happening in a few hours. He still didn’t know if he was expected to attend. 

A figure approached the garage, silhouetted initially by the unfiltered sunlight. It didn’t take much squinting, though, for Taeyong to recognize his boyfriend. 

“Hi, Minato-san,” Yuta greeted warmly, waving to the middle-aged man rearranging equipment on the far wall. Minato-san waved back weakly. Taeyong found himself wondering if that man had ever been on the wrong end of Yuta’s katana. 

“Taeyong,” Yuta began, redirecting his attention. Taeyong’s expression opened expectantly as he nodded in acknowledgement, resting his wrench on the cracked concrete by his side. “Are you hungry?” 

It took that suggestion for Taeyong to realize just how famished he actually was. It was around breakfast time after all, and it occurred to him he hadn’t eaten dinner the night before. As if on cue, his stomach growled. 

“YES,” he replied. 

Yuta crossed the threshold of the shop so Taeyong could see him more clearly. He wore a black suit with red lapels and a white polo underneath, all the way unbuttoned so his tattoos were on full display. He also though, wore a frazzled look under his dark shades, a tired smile, and that hulking splint on his hand. 

“Wonderful,” he said. “There’s a kitchen in the back.” 

Taeyong got up to his feet with as much delicacy as he could muster, wobbling after Yuta as he strode past twice as fast, calling to Minato-san,

“How are this month’s dues coming?” The obviously long-suffering man’s face dropped, but before he could answer, Yuta waved him off with a blinding grin. “I’m only pulling your leg – that’s not my job. We’re just going to fix ourselves some food.” 

Taeyong insisted on doing the cooking this time, even if it was only something as simple as a quick breakfast, and he had to ignore Yuta’s protests that he wasn’t a cripple and didn’t need to be waited on. Yuta watched Taeyong cook, downing a mug of coffee that looked like the motor oil on Taeyong’s clothing as he did so. 

Taeyong had imagined that his first time cooking breakfast for Yuta would be sweet and domestic in one of their apartments – not in this cramped, fluorescent-lit car garage galley kitchen – but he would take what he could get. 

“You were bullying that poor guy out there,” Taeyong scolded, paddling some steaming rice from the cooker into two bowls and topping each off with a jewel-like orange egg yolk and some soy sauce. He pulled out two sets of chopsticks, putting one back on second thought and replacing it with a spoon which he figured Yuta would have an easier time manipulating with his non-dominant hand. 

Yuta shrugged. “He’s used to it.” 

Taeyong gave Yuta a disapproving look as he carried the bowls to the tiny round table and sank into a white plastic lawn chair. Yuta grabbed his bowl and utensil. 

“ _Itadakimasu_ ,” he said quickly before breaking up the egg and shoveling the rice into his face without fumbling too much with the spoon in his left hand. Taeyong looked on, smiling slowly at how much Yuta seemed to be enjoying his food. 

“ _Itadakimasu_ ,” he echoed. 

Yuta let out a vocal sigh as he paused his gorging. “You know, I’m not even that hungry,” he admitted, “but I needed to come see you. Also, I’m trying to bury my anxiety in carbs.” 

Taeyong giggled, emotions mixing inside his gut like the glistening egg into his rice. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” he teased cautiously. Yuta snorted. “But, uh, you’re still worried? Do you feel prepared?” 

Yuta shrugged, nearing the bottom of his bowl. “I guess so. We did some strategizing this morning. I’m sticking with my plan to suggest removing myself from the operation. That’s kind of a big deal, as you know, so that’s partly why I’m so tense.” 

Taeyong nodded slowly. He felt a little bad that seeing Yuta so anxious was making a tiny piece of his brain fire straight in between his legs. What was wrong with him? he wondered awkwardly. First, he’d enjoyed killing someone and now he was getting aroused at the thought of his boyfriend’s stress. But that was a conditioned effect he’d have to deal with at a later date. 

“I also, uh,” Yuta stuttered, clinking the base of his empty bowl on the faux wood table as he set it down, “I’m tense because you’re supposed to come with me. _Oyabun_ wants to see you.” 

Taeyong froze. _Oh…_

“Oh,” he repeated out loud, chopsticks poised in the suddenly stuffy air. “Did he say what about exactly?” He didn’t know why he was so shocked; he’d been half expecting to have to go the whole time. 

“He wasn’t very specific,” Yuta answered sheepishly. “But he seems pretty upset.” 

Taeyong gulped down a few grains of rice that had been stuck in his mouth, forgetting to chew them. “Oh,” he said again. “With – with me?” 

This is where Taeyong would usually expect Yuta to shy away from his usual chaotic confidence, letting his eyes roam and voice falter. To his surprise though, Yuta stared at Taeyong head on and said clearly, 

“I don’t want to scare you, Yong, but it seems that way.” 

Taeyong hummed in understanding, setting down his food and laying his right hand flat on the grimy table. Yuta wasted no time grabbing it with his left. 

“But don’t worry,” Yuta continued. “What I do know is that he hasn’t made up his mind about anything; he’s waiting to hear from all of us at the meeting. That means that if he is upset, we’ll have the opportunity to plead your case, and I’ve made sure everyone is behind you.” 

Taeyong nodded, feeling like the lining of his stomach was trying to burrow into his skin. He wasn’t sure if he felt qualified to make his own case, considering that despite Yuta’s best efforts, he’d done nothing but beat himself up for the last twenty-four hours. He didn’t admit that, though. Instead, he met Yuta’s gaze and nodded, not wanting to give the other man anything else to worry about. 

“You’re very well-liked, Taeyong,” Yuta assured. “They’re all happy to be your advocates.” 

“I am?” Taeyong asked, smiling but unsure. Yuta looked just this side of angry. 

“Of course you are,” Yuta said. “Don’t let your self-image hang-ups make you dense.” 

_Ouch._ He was right though. Taeyong buried his confused emotional reaction, choosing to ratchet up the fake confidence. He responded to Yuta’s jab by flipping him off and then blowing him a kiss, then made quick work of the rest of his food while Yuta watched in shocked amusement. 

Taeyong took the bowls to the sink and rinsed them, absently pressing a buzzing noise from his lips. 

“Okay, so how long until this fatal meeting?” he asked. Yuta gave him a warning look, but didn’t address it’s cause. 

“In an hour and a half,” he replied. 

Taeyong pouted and Yuta raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” 

Taeyong looked down at himself, mentally bemoaning the dark splotches all over his clothing and skin. “Is that long enough for me to take a quick shower?” 

***

This was Taeyong’s third time at _Oyabun_ Hirai’s mansion/compound, and certainly his most official appearance. He took a shower at Yuta’s to save time and slipped into some of the other man’s clothing for the nth time since they’d become boyfriends or whatever they were: one of the few simple black suits that Yuta owned. 

Taeyong followed Yuta from the adjoining apartment wing, entering the main mansion through a back door he’d never taken before. It opened into a den with décor that positively made Taeyong’s heart drop: three frames on the far wall held the cured and densely tattooed abdomen skin of what had ostensibly been real life human beings. Taeyong stopped and stared, Yuta only noticing once he was several steps ahead. He turned around, registering what was bothering Taeyong. 

“It’s not as upsetting as it looks,” Yuta said, leaving it at that, and Taeyong couldn’t muster the hutzpah to ask for a better explanation.

After winding through the labyrinthine bowels of the structure, they reemerged in front of the hall/conference room where Taeyong had first been introduced to Hirai Goro. However, as opposed to that first time only days earlier, there were even more people filling the space, each seeming to occupy a very specific sectioned-off area and posture. The only word Taeyong could grasp to describe the mood was “formal.” 

At the very front of the room, sat in his leather throne and flanked by Jaehyun’s father, was Hirai Goro himself. Yuta pulled Taeyong past Ten, Kun, Taeil, Doyoung, and Johnny in that order, along with some men Taeyong had never seen before who he presumed were part of another regiment. They only stopped once standing together facing the _Oyabun_ and _Wakagashira_. Taeyong didn’t know if this formation reminded him more of a trial or a wedding, but there was certainly something judicious about it. He looked to his left. Jaehyun and Momo stood side by side against the wall, eyes as glassy as pools. 

No wonder Yuta hadn’t been excited for this meeting, Taeyong thought to himself. 

“ _Oyabun_ ,” Yuta said forcefully, bowing and hauling Taeyong down by the arm to bow with him. “Thank you humbly for calling this meeting into session.” 

Taeyong didn’t know what to do, so he tried to parrot Yuta’s tone and remember what he’d been briefed on while he was reveling in Yuta’s hot water supply: 1) be on your most respectful behavior 2) don’t panic 3) let everyone else do the talking when possible. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, “thank you humbly.” 

“Excuse me,” Yuta went on, “I hope I’ll be permitted to continue and explain the reports you’ve received.”

Goro looked irritated, but he didn’t deny the request. “In time, Yuta,” he said. 

Taeyong stood there by Yuta’s side, trying to school the impulse to pick at the tips of his fingers and nearly worrying a hole through his bottom lip as the meeting was called officially into session and Goro asked someone named Yuto – who was standing a few feet to Yuta’s left – to give an update on the _Sokaiya_ leak. It had come from his regiment, after all. Taeyong wondered if the person who had given information over to the Yamaguchi-gumi would eventually end up like the human hides he’d seen in the den downstairs. For that matter, he wondered if _he’d_ end up that way. At least no one could wonder anymore if he was a spy. 

By the time Goro moved on to Yuta and Taeyong, Taeyong could feel the nervous sweat trickling from his scalp to his collar. 

Yuta dropped to his knees and averted his eyes to the floor once the room’s attention was on him. Taeyong felt a bit thrown off-balance, standing so much higher than his boss in front of all those people making him feel like he had when his dad tried to teach him how to swim by throwing him into Lake Biwa. 

“Forgive me, _Oyabun_ ,” Yuta was saying, but everything felt distorted to Taeyong – as if he were listening from under the lake’s waves. “This complication concerning our strategy is completely my fault. I acted irresponsibly and, on top of that, put too much pressure on a new recruit.” 

_Too much pressure?_

“Both because of my misdeeds and because of the intelligence I gained during my captivity, I humbly request that I be removed from the _Sokaiya_. I understand that my lack of participation may jeopardize my status in relation to you, sir, but I feel it is necessary, both because I could continue to put at risk everything we have worked for, and because I believe I have failed in my mission.”

So, Taeyong thought, it was just as he had suspected, even if Yuta clung to the idea that none of it was Taeyong’s responsibility. 

Goro sighed, expression somewhere between amused and irritated. “Get up,” he ordered curtly. Yuta did so. “That was a moving little speech, Yuta, but I’m going to have to disagree with you.” Yuta looked confused, so Goro clarified. “Not in terms of your conduct – you have absolutely acted carelessly – but in terms of what to do about it.”

“How do you mean, _Oyabun_?” 

Gwang-suk took that question. “We have come to the conclusion,” he explained, “that you will not be excluded from the Mitsubishi meeting.”

Yuta looked like someone had just told him his father had come back to life. “I – I simply don’t follow.” 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Goro said. “I don’t see how one can fail a mission before it is officially over. The possibility Yamaguchi could break in only confirms the need to have you there. You’ve been a vital element of our planning for a reason, Yuta: it’s because you’re savvy and you’re good at getting out of binds. Have you forgotten that they didn’t even come away with the very information they need to negotiate?” 

Yuta’s face twitched along with Taeyong’s heartbeat. “But…but sir, they know something more valuable to them than that, and more dangerous to us. They’ll tell, and it would ruin you. I can’t participate in good conscience.” 

Goro almost rolled his eyes. Taeyong thought he saw some of the unfamiliar eyes in the room slingshotting between his body and Yuta’s. _Right, only Goro and the 15th regiment know what this is really about._

“You can’t live your whole life in the shadow of one small fact,” Goro said. Taeyong found himself wondering how naïve someone in his position could afford to be. “I know it must feel damning, but I won’t allow us to be intimidated by their empty threats. What do they have but rumors and a few tenuous plans to fight their way in and negotiate without any preparation? On top of that, we’ll have our own men looking out for them and the police already know to be on alert. Besides, they can still spread rumors about you even if you’re not there. You do understand that, right? This is your chance to make up for all the sneaking around. Now, my future son-in-law, are you going to step up or what?”

Taeyong hazarded a glance to his left. Yuta looked like he was holding back tears. 

“I worry they have proof. I think they could have photos. I’m not sure, but they said they have evidence.” 

Goro’s face shifted to that of a pit bull. He allowed himself to look angry for a moment, but just as quickly gave in to wry laughter. 

“Oh, Yuta,” he began, ruefully. “Our lover boy. I’d have thought after what happened four years ago, you’d have learned not to mix work and pleasure.”

Taeyong glared forward at Goro. He struggled to swallow his pride and wrangle the molten anger building in his gut. 

“Yes,” Yuta said emptily. “You’d think I would have.” 

At this, Taeyong’s head snapped towards Yuta. _What did that mean?_ But Yuta’s gaze was affixed to the wall ahead of him and Taeyong had the sense there was no wrenching it away. 

“My decision still stands,” Goro decided. “You’re more valuable included than excluded. If you get hurt because of all this, worse than whatever sent your hand into that splint, then I supposed it’ll only compound the lesson. Besides, they could be bluffing.” 

Yuta swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing tightly. 

“Yes, _Oyabun_.” 

Taeyong’s eyes traveled in a diagonal to Jaehyun and Momo. They both looked like statues. Jaehyun’s eyes flashed with conflict as his father began to speak. 

“Taeyong,” Gwang-suk began. 

Taeyong pulled his gaze back ahead of him. “Yes, _Wakagashira!_ ” 

“We need to speak to you of your tentative future.” 

Taeyong didn’t like the idea that his future, in whatever capacity, had been deemed “tentative.” He nodded cautiously. 

Goro cut in. “We floated several ideas concerning what to do about you. The first of which was excommunication, but we couldn’t do that before the meeting in case Yamaguchi got to you. We floated _yubitsume_ ,” Taeyong went rigid at the idea, “but we couldn’t justify that since you’re a new recruit who hasn’t been officially initiated, and therefore are not technically subject to our code of honor.” _Deep breath._ “In the end we had to come up with a different form of punishment for you; one for which you will be grateful if you have any sense at all.” 

Taeyong had to stop his mouth from dropping open in dumb shock. _Didn’t Yuta say they hadn’t made a decision yet?_ One glance at Yuta’s confused expression was enough to confirm to Taeyong that they were both lost at this new development. 

“I – I’m sorry for interrupting, _Otosama_ ,” Momo blurted, taking a step forward from where she had stood with Jaehyun. Every eye in the room was suddenly on her. “May I ask exactly what Taeyong is being punished for?” 

“He has no responsibility to explain his reasoning to you, Momo-chan,” said Gwang-suk, but Goro only waved him off. 

“I can handle my own child, thank you.” He turned to his daughter, who was making furtive eye contact with Yuta. “Darling, I hope you can separate your affection for Yuta from his attachment to his current _partner_.” Taeyong twitched at the emphasis on the word “partner.” Goro went on. “Taeyong has been nothing but a distraction to Yuta, causing him to put himself and our mission in danger.”

Momo shook her head, incredulous. “I don’t like the insinuation that Yuta wasn’t fully in control of his actions, for better or worse.” 

Goro’s face twitched. “Well. Why don’t you ask him about it?” 

Momo looked at Yuta expectantly. Taeyong did too, confused about why the usually plucky man he knew was acting so subdued. He wanted to kick him. 

“She’s right,” Yuta said softly. “I don’t like that insinuation either. I admit I acted stupidly at times, but it was all of my own accord, and I don’t regret anything.” 

Taeyong knew he’d been told to speak as little as possible, but he couldn’t help himself. If there was one thing that made him boil over, it was certainly being disparaged as if he weren’t there – especially when his loved ones were subject to like treatment.

“This isn’t fair,” he muttered. Yuta glared as if to remind him of his instructions, but Goro was already asking him to repeat himself, egging him on. 

“This isn’t fair,” Taeyong said again, watching as Goro smirked and leaned back into his chair. Momo and Yuta exchanged a look that screamed _‘what is he doing??’_

“How is that?” Goro asked. “You haven’t even heard your punishment yet.” 

“Because,” Taeyong explained, voice more assured this time. “None of this would be necessary if we weren’t two men. I’m sorry sir, but it's true. I’m being punished for something I can’t control.” 

Goro sighed. “I would think you’d be used to that,” he said, and disappointment sank in Taeyong’s stomach like a paperweight in a bathtub. “Taeyong, do you have any idea what I have sacrificed for Yuta because of that _thing_ he can’t control?” He looked to Momo. “I do it because I know what this is like from familial experience, and I do it because I love him like the son in-law he will soon be to me. My organization cannot sustain much more strain on this front – especially not now. I’m demoting you back to being a general foot soldier and transferring you to another regiment. That is my final decision, so I expect no further interruptions.” 

Taeyong didn’t know how to react. He was angry; angry at the suggestion that his identity was somehow less valuable than Yuta’s or Momo’s; angry that Goro had eschewed the opportunity for Taeyong’s friends to advocate for him. But he was also terrified. He’d be transferred to work with a group of men of which he would likely be the only Korean and the only gay. It sounded like hell. 

“How may we go about seeing each other?” Yuta asked, voice so hollow it almost echoed. 

“Preferably as little as possible,” Goro said with a sad smile. “Especially in the coming days.” 

All of a sudden, Taeyong felt the air beside him moving as Yuta once again dropped to the floor; this time on one knee. He drew the katana he’d been wearing under his jacket and set it sacrificially on the floor in front of him. 

“Don’t do this, _Oyabun_ ,” he pleaded, voice betraying the most emotion it had all day. “You can’t. You promised me you wouldn’t interfere with my personal life. I should have acted with more discretion, but Taeyong has been of legitimate help to our regiment and my men have taken to him. He didn’t do anything I didn’t ask him to. Ever.” Taeyong’s stomach churned. “Moving him now would only be a threat to unit cohesion.” 

Goro raised a brow in question. “Is that so?”

“It is, sir.” Johnny’s voice came from somewhere behind Taeyong, and when he turned around, he saw the source of the interruption in the exact same pose as Yuta. He looked up, making eye contact with Taeyong, and winked. Taeyong was starting to feel light-headed. Immediately after, Doyoung also dropped to his knee. 

“I second that!” He almost yelled. By his side, Taeil sighed, then lumbered into the same pose.

“I third it,” he said. With Yuta’s three _Hosa_ mimicking his pose, Taeyong had a clear view of Ten and Kun standing directly behind them. Kun looked around the room, seeming just as confused as Taeyong felt, but Ten held himself perfectly calm, staring daggers at Taeyong with an emotionally void expression. _What the hell?_

“As one half of the Triad delegation present,” Ten said without moving a centimeter, “I support this act of protest.”

Taeyong turned around as Kun hesitantly concurred. He caught a sideways grin starting to creep over Yuta’s bowed face. 

“This is very touching,” Goro said. Taeyong felt the room tittering with the curiosity of Adachi Yuto’s men and everyone else to whom this was all news. “But –”

“Wait!” Now Jaehyun was tearing himself from the wall, breathless. “I also concur!” 

Gwang-suk looked like he was ready to personally spank his adult son, but he also looked flustered under his boss’s gaze. 

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” Jaehyun sputtered. “But I feel partly responsible. I encouraged this, uh, relationship.”

“Son, what are you –”

“I did!” Jaehyun asserted, nodding his head so hard it looked painful. “And I think it was the right thing to do. Taeyong could learn to be a really good syndicate member, and his place is with the other _Toras_. I’m absolutely sure of it.” 

Gwang-suk seemed about to send some seething retort Jaehyun’s way, but Goro cut him off. 

“Thank you, Jaehyun,” he said patronizingly. “Stand up, you all. You’re not on a stage in Kabuki-chō.” After a defiant pause, Taeyong saw Yuta rise to his feet, hearing his men follow his lead. Goro continued through a calcified jaw. “I see this isn’t going to be easily resolved before the meeting. That was a very sentimental display, and we can’t afford to be splitting into factions right now. Taeyong?” 

“Yes sir?” 

“You’ll not be transferred for the time being.” 

Taeyong nodded in response to Goro’s frown, trying not to look too relieved. 

“But that doesn’t mean your status isn’t still up for later review. In other words, this conversation isn’t over, and when I choose to pick it back up, I won’t be nearly as receptive to this kind of strike. Yuta?” 

“ _Oyabun_ ,” 

“For God’s sake, be more careful. I’ve warned you before. And get your men in line and prepared for anything Mitsubishi or the Yamaguchi-gumi could throw at them. I don’t want to doubt you anymore. And I wasn’t bluffing; you’re still attending and that is truly my final word.” 

“Understood.” 

Goro looked around, a bit like an old man who’d had a few too many drinks. Taeyong felt like the air was alive with static electricity. Whether that indicated a near-explosive tension or a tingling relief, he couldn’t say. 

Taeyong barely processed being ushered out of the meeting hall, nor through the suite it opened out into, nor to the elevator to the ground floor. Once in the entryway though, he had regained enough awareness to thank Yuta for his advocacy. 

“Of course,” Yuta responded, not turning around to look at Taeyong. Taeyong heard him chuckle. “Still, I thought I told you to leave the talking to us.” 

“I thought you said Goro hadn’t made up his mind yet,” Taeyong shot back, seeming to agitate Yuta as his strides began to accelerate. “Okay, I’m sorry,” Taeyong said, “but isn’t it a good thing I spoke up?” 

Yuta wheeled around and pushed Taeyong off into an alcove. His face looked crazed, tears threatening to bubble over like condensation on an airplane window being rippled by the wind. 

“It was…” Yuta admitted, grabbing Taeyong’s hand. The other in the splint hung lamely at his side. 

Taeyong searched Yuta’s face. “So, what’s the problem?” 

“It’s just that, you _scared me_ , Taeyong.” 

Taeyong didn’t know what to say. He’d been through an assassination attempt and a kidnapping with Yuta and at no point had he so flatly acknowledged his fears. When he did admit to nervousness or stress, it had always been in the context of downplaying it or using it to flirt. This? This felt different. 

“I thought you said there was no use in being scared,” Taeyong ventured, and Yuta smiled weakly, nodding in agreement. 

“I did say that, didn’t I? You’re right.” 

They stood there like that for several beats before Taeyong gathered up the gumption to ask about the one thing still bothering him. 

“You’re not really going to go to the meeting still are you, Yuta? I mean, how can you? You said it yourself, it’s so dangerous.” 

Yuta shook his head in surrender. “What else can I do?” he asked. “It’s my orders.” 

And with that, he began to move once more towards the exit. Taeyong hurried after. 

“Wait! But you defied orders to keep me in the 15th! Surely you can advocate for yourself again here –”

“Taeyong,” Yuta said, voice a warning as he spun on his heel. “Don’t tell me how to do my job. I respected your wishes when you asked for some space to make your own decisions, so I only ask for the same courtesy in return. Alright?” 

Taeyong nodded silently, frozen as Yuta leaned in to place a brief kiss on his forehead before turning back around. 

“Now, let’s go. The others are probably waiting to debrief.” Simple as that, Yuta was off and out the door, leaving Taeyong to collect himself before following. He remembered a thought he’d had in the heated moments right after they had finally given into each other: _Yuta was going to devastate him._ He’d been right, but somehow he didn’t even mind. 

**///**

After the _Sokaiya_ conference, there were four days left until the Mitsubishi meeting. Yuta spent those days mostly between headquarters and the safehouse, strategizing with the other meeting attendees and getting accustomed to sleeping beside Taeyong every night. They hadn’t done so innocently before, and Yuta had to admit he adored it. It calmed the nervous tension that still hung between them after Goro tried to transfer Taeyong, gave Yuta the opportunity to care for Taeyong with all the tenderness he deserved, and offered Taeyong the chance to comfort Yuta when he awoke in terror in the middle of the night. Also, sleeping with Taeyong pressed up against him conveniently stopped Yuta from moving around at night and accidentally pinning his bum hand. 

The morning of the meeting, Taeyong lay on his side in bed, watching Yuta dress himself in a white button up and slick black suit. Yuta noticed Taeyong’s eyes observing with particular interest when he slipped his holster over his upper body. Just in case. 

“You look so cool, _Shategashira_ ,” Taeyong all but whispered. “Try not to get killed, okay?”

Yuta laughed wryly. “I’ll do my best,” he replied, dropping a kiss to Taeyong’s lips before heading out the door. Goro had decided not to use Taeyong as part of the look-out team in case he attracted any specific ire from the Yamaguchi-gumi should they show up like they had threatened. So, Yuta was going in alone. Well, not alone, he reminded himself; he’d have the support of the entire Sokaiya behind him. 

The meeting kicked off without a hitch. It was in a conference room on the fortieth floor of Mitsubishi headquarters in Marunouchi, overlooking Tokyo Station and the Imperial Palace. Yuta was unaccustomed to both that type of neighborhood and that kind of view, but it calmed his nerves to watch the morning taxis, pedestrians, and runners shuffling around obliviously hundreds of feet below as he slotted into his seat at a gargantuan rosewood conference table. 

Yuta looked to his left, sharing a reassuring nod with Johnny, Doyoung, Taeil, and Yuto and his men. Then, he checked to his right, where Goro, Kun, and Ten sat frozen in concentration. Miyazaki, Sato, and the rest of the executive board filed in soon after and commenced the meeting, starting with other shareholder delegations and their desires before moving on to the newbie group of gangsters. Yuta caught Miyazaki’s eyes flickering with something close to terror when he noticed the bandages peeking out of the collars of Yuta and some of his men. That was okay; they aimed to be discreet enough to make it into the room but no more so. They were about to terrify their way into a deal, anyway. 

Miyazaki took a controlled sip of his coffee, rings clacking against the side of the cup. Gwang-suk was right, Yuta thought, this man did remind him of a yakuza boss in style, at least. 

“Sorayama-san,” he began, using the name under which Goro had decided they would buy their stock. “Welcome. I notice you have quite the delegation accompanying you so, by all means, present your priorities and we will do everything we can to serve them.” 

Goro smirked. “I trust you will. Yuta,” 

That flicker in Miyazaki’s eye turned to a spark of terror. Yuta was exhilarated, knowing full well what Goro’s prompt meant. He pulled his katana from where he’d hidden it in the back of his holster and unsheathed it, taking a moment to admire the blade as he reveled in the pinched breathes of everyone else at the table wondering if they would get out of this alive. He set the short sword neatly on the table in front of him and tented his hands as well as he could manage with the damned splint on. 

“No need to worry,” he said calmly, all eyes on him. “Just as long as you cooperate. This is only to show you we mean business.” 

“How did you get in here?” Miyazaki asked, voice a tremolo. He was surely nervous that his fellow board members would find out about him embezzling company money to a mistress. “I barred the Yamaguchi-gumi from entry.” 

Yuta fiddled with the bandages on his right hand to make himself appear coolly preoccupied. 

“You’re not speaking to the Yamaguchi-gumi,” Yuta explained, “and we got in legitimately, just like everyone else here, so we deserve equal consideration, I think. We just have some unorthodox…priorities.” 

Miyazaki huffed a breath as Sato spoke up, looking beyond shaken. “Who – who are you then?”

“Inagawa-kai,” Goro answered, and every non-gangster in the room shifted tensely in their seats. “And these are our friends from the Hong Kong Triads.” 

Kun waved in a way that would have been sweet if he hadn’t been absolutely prepared to kill anyone who got in his way. Ten stared ahead with a growing smirk, looking absolutely prepared to cut a bitch, as usual. 

Sato scanned the room, quickly making his mind up and telling the innocent shareholders to get out as quickly as possible. _Uh-oh, can’t have them getting away and warning the police._

Thankfully, Doyoung and Ten anticipated Yuta’s thoughts before he could even turn them into an order, each getting up and blocking one of the two exits, guns in hand. The couple attendees who’d had the gall to try leaving stopped in their tracks at this, returning to their seats in defeat. 

“What do you thugs want from us?” Miyazaki asked. “It better be good because I have had it up to here with the yakuza lately.” Sato and the other executives looked at him strangely, but he was beyond caring, apparently. 

“What we want, and what you’ll give us,” Yuta said, “is quite simple. My associates have the details for you, if you’ll hear them out.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“We expect a payment of 130,000,000 yen to support our day-to-day operations,” Johnny explained, “and as a vote of confidence that we can trust you.” 

The man next to Sato scoffed. “This is ridiculous.” 

Yuta picked up his sword in his left hand, trying to look as steady with the weapon as he could handling it in his non-dominant hand. “Is it?” he asked, bringing the blade to his profile and trying to sound threateningly inquisitive. 

“Not – not necessarily,” Miyazaki backtracked on his colleague’s behalf. “Is that all?” 

“No,” Kun said, shifting forward in his seat. “We’ll also require that a small percentage of your export shipments to Hong Kong be set aside for our own cargo.” 

“And what do we get in return?” Sato asked. 

“Our men to protect your organization from anything that could possibly threaten you; the Yamaguchi-gumi, auditors, the Suzuki corporation’s attempts to compete – anything you name,” Yuta said. “And we’ll also offer our own men as security for your shipments in the South China Sea. Tensions are heating up on that route, aren’t they?”

Miyazaki’s lips twitched. “And I suppose you’ll kill me if I say no – or say yes and then go to the police for that matter. Am I correct?” 

Goro laughed. “You’re very perceptive, Miyazaki-san,” he said, “Possibly. Possibly not. We’d prefer not to stoop to that; it’s too risky. But we aren’t above maiming. Nor are we above spreading gossip. Wouldn’t want anyone finding out about a certain Ms. Minatozaki, hm? Or Sato-san’s gambling debts? We have something to convince each of you individually.” Miyazaki looked like he wished he could melt into a pre-sentient state. He nodded as Doyoung continued from the doorway. 

“I’d say it’s a simple decision if you value your reputations; or your lives for that matter.”

Yuta looked around the room. The other shareholders all held their faces downcast, watching the floor and ostensibly hoping that if they didn’t call attention to themselves, they’d come out alright. 

Miyazaki huffed. He seemed about to make up his mind and this sent Yuta’s heart rate skyrocketing. He couldn’t believe nothing had gone wrong yet. 

Yuta watched the formerly demurred meeting attendees wrench their eyes from the floor to look around. _Thought too soon…_ Voices and clangs from god-knew-what echoed just on the other side of Doyoung’s door. Yuta held his breath as it busted open, Doyoung moving just in time to turn around and point his gun at the intrusion. 

It was Yamaguchi. Yuta knew this because unlike the Inagawa-kai delegation, they hadn’t bothered to cover their tattoos or remove their logo pins. _Fuck…_

Yuta looked to Goro as Ten, Doyoung, Taeil, Johnny, and Yuto’s two men stood and engaged in a scuffle with the Yamaguchi intruders. His eyes betrayed fear for the first time since this plan had been initially hatched. Yuta only allowed himself to linger on this fact for a split second before rising with Kun and Yuto. 

He went about fighting almost automatically – “almost” because he wasn’t used to forgoing the aid of his right hand. He made do though, managing to wound the men who came after him with his katana and staying mostly out of the fray as his subordinates held off the brunt of the attack. He came up for breath and looked around him; Ten had a Yamaguchi member against the wall by his brass-knuckled hand, holding a pin against the man’s quivering throat; Doyoung shot an assailant in the leg; Johnny choked another; and through all the insanity, the meeting’s legitimate invitees and executives cowered under the conference table, screaming at every loud noise. Yuta watched in horror as one of Yuto’s men went down, a bullet to the chest. He couldn’t help wondering to himself how any of this could possibly be worth it, but he smothered that question to deal with later. Now, he needed to survive – for Taeyong if for nothing else. 

He watched as Taeil extracted himself from the grip of a man with a bat before his eyes went wide at something just over Yuta’s shoulder.

“ _Shategashira_!” 

Yuta spun around in shock, shoving his knife into the stomach of none other than Nobu, who dropped a hatchet to the ground before collapsing. _He must have gotten away last week._

“STOP!” Goro’s voice cut through the room, freezing everyone where they stood in whatever mid-assault contortion they’d been executing. A man in a red suit dropped Doyoung harshly to the floor – he’d had him a second ago by the collar – and smirked. The smirk dissipated momentarily when he saw Nobu bleeding out over the tile floors, but he replaced it adeptly like a mask. 

“You’re right, Goro,” he said. “Where are our manners? Surely, we can come to an understanding like adults.” 

Yuta sniffled, realizing he had a bloody nose and wiping some of the crimson drip onto the bandages holding his splint in place as he watched Yuto’s one casualty being dragged out of the room by his partner. Yuto looked like a machine that had been turned off – completely void. 

The Yamaguchi men – Yuta counted seven of them in total now excluding Nobu – straightened themselves up despite their conspicuous injuries and leaned against the glass and drywall edges of the room. A collective sigh moved throughout the room, and Goro, Yuta, Kun, and their now reduced posse retook their seats begrudgingly. The air smelled thick with blood, but maybe that was just Yuta’s nose. 

“Come on, don’t be shy,” said Red Suit, strolling around the space and nudging this gang war’s terrified hostages with his boot, encouraging them to sit back at the table. When he made it to the executives, he pulled Miyazaki to his feet with a grin. _Of course_ , thought Yuta, _he must have a grudge after the Sana fiasco._

“What is this all about?” Miyazaki spat. Red Suit leaned into his face. 

“You should be able to guess at least half of it, Miyazaki-sama,” he said mockingly, and the executive’s eyes went wide in recognition. “You see, our friends here got their intelligence from some little weasels informing on us.” He turned, eyes landing squarely on Yuta and Yuta swallowed down a flash of panic. 

“The other half pertains to this little fucker,” he continued. 

“That’s irrelevant,” Goro cut in, “Miyazaki-san was just about to accept our deal anyway. Why would he listen to a bunch of thugs who broke into this meeting when we’ve already shown our respect in playing by the rules and laying all our cards on the table? That’s right, isn’t it, Miyazaki-san?”

Miyazaki nodded, cautious. “I’m not inclined to do business with you after what I learned last week,” he admitted, and Red Suit’s eyes raged. 

He manhandled Miyazaki out of his chair, ignoring the protests of the other executives and the spasm of tension which rippled through everyone else in the room. He shoved Miyazaki against the floor-to-ceiling window, breathing heavily and grinning. 

“I’m trying to be of service to you. Why can’t you see that?” he questioned as his victim wriggled helplessly and everyone was forced to look on. Yuta was so attuned he thought he could feel the individual blood vessels drying around his nostrils. Red Suit went on. “You might not want to do business with them after what I’m about to teach you.” 

_Here it comes._

“How can you trust anything he says?” Ten spat from across the room, trying to delay the inevitable. “They gamed you once, they’ll do it again. Why wouldn’t they?” 

Red Suit wheeled around, pointing his gun Ten’s way. “Shut up! I won’t hesitate!” 

“Wha – what is this about?” Miyazaki asked. 

“It’s about our little friend here,” Red Suit said, “trying to wield a sword like a warrior despite his busted hand.” 

Yuta stiffened. “What about me?” he asked, cocking his head and trying to feign ignorance. He felt Goro’s hand clasping over his shoulder, warning. 

“Yuta –”

“No, we’re all friends here. No secrets.” 

The rest of the Inagawa-kai _Sokaiya_ members just gaped at Yuta, not knowing where the hell he was going with this. In all honesty, Yuta didn’t know either, but he was sick of hiding. 

Red Suit chuckled darkly. “Miyazaki-san, Mr. Confident here has a big secret. He’s a degenerate; a pansy, as they say. You know that cancer they’ve got over in America? Well it’s only a matter of time before he brings it here. Give the Inagawa-kai anything and it lands in his grubby hands.” 

“Oh, fuck you!” Johnny interjected, shutting himself up when one of the Yamaguchi men pointed a gun at him. He pointed his own right back; a standoff. 

Miyazaki’s voice was a whisper as his eyes traced over the gang members and other spooked occupants of the room. “I want proof.” 

“Funny you should ask!” Red Suit reached into his jacket pocket, removing the hand he’d been using to hold Miyazaki since he knew the old man wouldn’t dare move of his own accord. He produced a series of printed photographs: pictures of Yuta and Taeyong dancing together at Copycat and one of Yuta passed out in his underwear at the Alpha Inn, two sets of men’s clothes shucked to the floor beside him. Yuta’s cheeks burned in powerlessness and shame as Miyazaki’s eyes flickered between his face and the photos. He’d been right before, he thought, he had failed. At the same time, he felt a kind of perverse freedom. 

“Say something!” Red Suit demanded, and Miyazaki shocked so violently that he dropped the scandalous pictures to the ground. 

“I – I suppose you’re correct,” he said simply. “I guess I don’t want to -- in fact, I can’t -- do business with them.” 

Yuta held his breath. He almost couldn’t believe how easily this had all crumbled because of him. _Almost._

Red Suit leaned in as the room looked on. “But now you’ll need someone to protect you from this group of perverts, won’t you? If you let us enter into negotiations with you, we can make this all go away.” 

Yuta felt like his seat was on fire, so he shot himself out of it, but before he could make a move, he had Red Suit’s gun to his forehead. The next few seconds passed in a blur. He heard Doyoung screaming his name, the sharp sound of a bat shattering through the window ahead of him, and the hollow boom of a warning shot firing into the table. 

When he’d regained his wits, he took stock of his surroundings: Miyazaki had crashed into the table after being hauled away from the window, and in his place, Yuta found himself, leaning out a gaping window at the mercy of the man in the red suit. The breeze teased his hair and he felt the sudden need to hurl up his breakfast, but he also felt strangely calm as he teetered on the edge of death. The rest of the room watched on tenterhooks. Yuta silently thanked the fact that he couldn’t see any of their faces; he was sure the disappointment and fear registering on them would have been too much for him. He wanted one of them to shoot – to do something – but he knew they couldn’t or else he’d be plunging the forty stories to the ground. 

“We don’t have much time before someone realizes what’s going on in here,” Red Suit said to Yuta, and as if on cue, one of the shareholders stood, trying to yell “help!” out the now-busted window. All he accomplished through that stunt was getting himself pistol-whipped. 

“Anyway,” Red Suit continued, “I think this’d get settled a lot quicker without you here. Not that anyone would miss you, huh? Your men will probably be relieved to be free of your secret and all the trouble it brings.” Red Suit held Yuta a little farther forward. He took another look at the joggers under the trees on the grounds of the imperial palace, the delivery boys on their bikes. He imagined himself among them as a red stain against the concrete, knowing from up here he would appear as little more than a squashed housefly. The scene outside was almost serene, and its normalcy only translated to an even thicker sludge of hatred in Yuta’s gut. He didn’t feel like himself; he felt like his body was floating while his organs pulled him down. 

“Don’t listen to him, Yuta,” said Kun. 

“We’re not leaving without you,” Taeil added. 

Yuta closed his eyes, imagining he was flying. An idea gripped him, suspending him where he was hundreds of feet in the air. He decided to verbalize it. 

“Suppose I wasn’t involved,” he said. “If you didn’t have to worry about my…condition. The Inagawa-kai’s relative decorum would surely trump the brute force of the Yamaguchi-gumi in your view, Miyazaki-san. I’m right, aren’t I?” 

Miyazaki made a noise. Yuta didn’t know how to interpret it, but he hoped it was positive. By the way that Red Suit growled, he figured it was. 

“So, what if I simply removed myself from the equation?” he asked, swallowing around the words he was about to say. “If I promise to renounce my syndicate membership, will you take our deal?” 

“Yuta, you don’t have to do this,” he heard Goro say. If he hadn’t been so terrified, he would have laughed in recognition; now he knew how Taeyong had felt. 

“It’s okay,” he said, wondering if this was how he was going to die; demeaning himself before a group of enemies and capitalists. “I always kind of knew this day would come.” He felt a tear drop from his cheek and watched it fall, fall, fall until he couldn’t tell if it had evaporated in the wind, or if it was still on its way to the sidewalk to confuse a poor pedestrian into looking up at the mercifully blue sky and seeing him tumbling down. 

“He’s crying,” Red Suit sneered, but before he could add any more insults, Miyazaki was cutting him off with his raspy delivery. 

“I – yes, actually. I think that would be the most attractive option to us.” 

Red Suit turned around, “What?!” and he _let go_. 

Yuta floundered for a moment, shoving his tailbone back as far as he could to counteract the force pulling him forward. He felt like he had wings; he felt like he had no stomach. Then, he was dead weight against the floor. He panted as Johnny’s face smiled up at him; he’d used the moment of distraction to break free of his standoff and tackle Yuta back into the room. Yuta blinked, the blood starting to circulate back into his system. The meeting’s legitimate invitees tittered amongst each other for the first time in what felt like hours but had probably only been around twenty-five minutes, and all at once, Inagawa seemed to have the true upper hand. Doyoung, Taeil, Kun, Ten, and the two members of the 20th regiment all had their weapons trained on their enemies. Yuta leaned up on his elbows. Where had the man in the Red Suit gone?

Goro strolled past, his shoes hulking like trucks next to Yuta’s head. Yuta heard a muted whimpering coming from just below the window as he watched Goro crouch and look over the side, the wind whipping his tie. _No way…_

“Do I let him drop?” he asked the room. 

Ten’s voice came from somewhere behind Yuta as he struggled to process the scene in front of him.

“I think that would be the most attractive option to us,” he snarked, and Goro smiled softly before standing and dipping the heel of his dress shoe just over the lip of the broken window. The following scream bent as it caught in the wind, and Yuta wanted to sink into the floor. 

Finally, Goro turned around, addressing Miyazaki but staring right at Yuta. 

“Congratulations on your deal with the Inagawa-kai,” he said. “I’m sure it will be a prosperous partnership.” 

*** 

The Inagawa-kai took the remaining Yamaguchi men into custody, hurrying to leave before the cops crashed the party. Yuta thanked Johnny for saving him and lingered behind on Goro’s request as he shoved a pre-drawn-up contract in front of Miyazaki for him to bless with his _hanko_. When they left, the meeting’s other attendees were in the process of regrouping after what would probably be the most traumatic event of their lives. Yuta walked after his boss, who moved so swiftly that Yuta had to shuffle into high gear to keep up. He couldn’t tell if Goro was elated or crushed. 

“You’re not really going to resign,” he said, as he clicked the button for the elevator. “I won’t allow it. That was a clever stunt though.” 

The light above the door dinged and the elevator opened. “I thought I was being serious,” Yuta admitted as he stepped on. “I mean it’s their one condition for entering into this deal. Aren’t they going to check on my status? They can surely figure out if you kick me out or not.” The doors closed. 

“You weren’t being serious,” Goro said with a forced smile. “You couldn’t have been; you were gripped as a man on the brink of death, no more than that.” 

Yuta shuddered at the memory. _Was that it?_ Had he been so ‘gripped?’ He forced a smile of his own. 

“I suppose.” 

Goro patted him on the back. “Leave this up to me. It’s the least I can do for you after you saved our deal,” he said. “We’ll think of something.” 

The elevator dinged a final time as they reached the ground floor and Goro left with a wincingly tight smile and a reminder that they should leave separately. The warble of police sirens echoed somewhere nearby. Yuta loitered in the vestibule by the elevators and restrooms, lighting a much-needed cigarette and wondering how long was an appropriate amount of time to wait. There was an air of barely-simmered-down chaos to the building’s lobby. Surely the arrival of the Yamaguchi-gumi had caused some kind of commotion. How conspicuous it had been though, Yuta had no idea. 

“Yuta-san,” came an insistent whisper from just behind him. He turned to find Yukhei’s manic face peeking from around the men’s room door. 

“Yukhei?” A few steps forward revealed Sicheng supporting him from behind and a bloody gash on his leg. Thankfully, it didn’t look deep, but the whole image still startled Yuta – especially the way Yukhei wouldn’t stop laughing with tears in his eyes. “What happened?” 

“The Yamaguchi-gumi broke in, that’s what happened, Sherlock,” Sicheng said. “But first thing’s first: do we have the deal?” 

Yuta nodded and Sicheng and Yukhei each nearly collapsed into each other in an exaggerated display of relief. This was mostly due to Yukhei’s wobbly leg. 

“Have you two just been hiding out in here for the last half hour?” 

“Pretty much,” Yukhei said. “We didn’t know when would be the time to try to get out without making a scene – or like, if we’d be needed again.” 

“Yeah,” Sicheng agreed in his low drawl, “they kinda busted our in-ears during the attack so we had no idea what to do.” Right, Yuta remembered being briefed on the remote chain of command for the guard team ahead of time. It must have been confusing for them without orders. 

“Well,” Yuta thought, letting out a puff of smoke. “I think my ride’s here. I’ll walk directly in front of you and we’ll get out of here. Yukhei?”

“Yes!”

“Try not to limp too much. I think the cops have almost arrived.” 

“Aye-aye sir!” 

The trio stumbled out of the lobby, and Yuta almost wanted to laugh. The impulse either came from the shock of having nearly escaped death-by-skyscraper, or because he felt like he was a little kid with too little pocket change trying to sneak his friends into a movie. He couldn’t quite say; his brain wasn’t really sitting right. 

The police either willfully ignored them out of fear or didn’t see them in their rush to recover Red Suit’s flattened body on the other side of the building, but Yuta, Yukhei, and Sicheng made their way safely to the black Toyota Yuta knew he was supposed to look for. They were met by little more than a couple strange looks of concern from salarymen leaving for their lunch breaks. 

Jungwoo sat in the driver’s seat with Taeyong in the passenger’s. Yuta hadn’t been expecting his boyfriend, but he wasn’t about to complain. He and Sicheng helped Yukhei gingerly into the car, where he unfurled over the middle seat and at least half of the adjacent seats as well. Yuta figured he couldn’t blame him; he took up enough space when he wasn’t injured and just trying to get comfy. 

He sat down in what little remained of his space in the car as Jungwoo emitted an exaggerated sigh. 

“Thank god!” he said, smacking his palms over the steering wheel. His voice was a bit distorted due to the lollipop in his mouth. It was something he used when he wanted to feel included in the ritual of smoking but didn’t want to smoke. “Now I can finally stop listening to this idiot lose his mind over how worried he is about Yuta, Yuta, his precious _Yuta!_ ” 

“I’m glad you’re alright too, Jungwoo,” Yuta retorted, and his subordinate breathed a pleased laugh. Taeyong turned around in his seat and Yuta had to hide the way his heart soared. He’d wanted to stay around just to see that smile again. 

“Hi – oh no! Xuxi, what happened?” Taeyong asked, brows knitting in concern. 

“It’s just a flesh-wound!” Yukhei yelled in heavily accented English that Yuta could only place somewhere between Chinese and British inflexion. He supposed that made sense, but he had no clue what Yukhei was going on about, and neither did Taeyong apparently, whose brows knitted further as he watched Yukhei laugh so hard his eyes turned into crescent moons. 

“It’s nothing,” Sicheng, assured, waving off any concern, “just a stupid movie he likes. Anyway, Jungwoo, can we get going? He probably should get medical attention. Even if he’s not taking this seriously.” 

“Oh, right!” 

Jungwoo stepped on the gas and they started on their way. “So, we heard you managed to get the deal,” he said, “even though Yamaguchi showed up. How’d that happen?”

“I…well…” Yuta didn’t know how to begin. He didn’t want to worry anyone with news of his tenuous status, especially because he himself wasn’t disturbed in the slightest. He felt serene. He decided to be truthful though, and as he’d expected, the entire car gaped at him. 

“You won’t actually leave though, right?” Jungwoo asked weakly. “You can’t…” He made his voice go maddeningly whiny for extra effect. “ _ShategashiraAAaaA_.” 

Yukhei and Sicheng made noises of agreement, the only glaring silence that of Taeyong. _What was that about?_ Yuta chuckled. 

“Who knows?” he said. “ _Oyabun_ has assured me I won’t need to. He says we’ll work it out.” 

“Yeah,” Taeyong said finally. “Whatever happens, it’ll be alright in the end.” He looked at Yuta through the rearview mirror, smile so sweet it could have rotted teeth. 

They arrived at Inagawa-kai headquarters shortly after and Jungwoo and Sicheng hurried Yukhei inside to see Kun. Taeyong tried to exit the parking garage, but Yuta stopped him. 

“Baby,” he began. Taeyong smiled. 

“Hi.” 

Yuta melted a little, huffing a laugh. “Hi. Why didn’t you react when I told everyone what had happened? I’m wondering your thoughts.” 

“Honestly?” Taeyong began, looking around and bouncing his back against the car door. “I was thinking about what you said a few days ago: about not telling you how to do your job. Or, in this case I guess how to quit your job, but still. Same principle.”

Yuta smiled at Taeyong’s thoughtfulness. What had he ever done to deserve such a person? 

“But,” Taeyong continued, “if you must know, I was scared. I _am_ scared. Leaving would be so, so dangerous, you probably can’t even begin to think of all the ways you’ll be under threat.” 

Yuta placed a hand on his hip and nodded. “No, I know. Of course I know, and you’re right. I’m sure Yamaguchi is already sending out another assassin – hell, a whole team of assassins probably. Who knows though? I believe Goro when he says he’ll work it out. He may be an ass, but he really does care for me.”

“I know,” Yuta detected bitterness in Taeyong’s tone, but he couldn’t blame him. Goro hadn’t exactly been on his kindest behavior regarding Yuta’s new partner, but Yuta had a feeling that was soon to change. 

“He truly seems to think I won’t even need to leave,” Yuta went on. “We’ll just have to see.”

Taeyong nodded and Yuta grabbed his hand. 

“Yong?” he said. 

“Mm?”

“Thank you for coming with Jungwoo to get me. It made me happy.” He paused for a moment, unsure. “ _You_ make me happy. Not many things do lately.” 

Taeyong’s lips inched into a smile, twitching at the edges in emotion. “Against my better judgment,” he said, squeezing Yuta’s hand, “you make me happy too.” 

Yuta chuckled. It might kill him, but then and there he knew he was in this for the long haul. He let the pause in their conversation reverberate in the air between them before he spoke again. “Well, we should probably be heading up, huh?” 

Upstairs, they checked on Yukhei in the medical-supply room. Really, it was more of a closet. Kun greeted them, having just finished cleaning and bandaging Yukhei’s unnecessarily meaty thigh. He’d removed his bullet-proof-vest and his holster, and rolled up his sleeves, flexing like he was in a body-building competition, because why not? From the gibberish bravado he was spouting to make Jungwoo laugh, Yuta surmised it was his way of communicating that he felt fine. 

“Yuta!” Kun began, sanitizing his hands and smiling openly. “I need to talk to you.”

“About?” 

“About your predicament. Yukhei and Jungwoo were telling me, and of course I saw everything that happened firsthand, and I was thinking…” 

Yuta raised an eyebrow as he felt Taeyong clinging softly to his side. 

“You secured our deal. The partnership between our syndicates is stronger than ever, and I feel some personal debt to you. Let’s go find Goro, yah?” Kun pulled Yuta and Taeyong after him and down the hall before either one of them could even think to question him. “I have an idea.” 


	12. Week VI pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little sweetness to go out on after I put y'all through the insanity of the last few chapters lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Japanese (new words this chapter only!):  
> Genghis Khan - Japanese mutton bbq restaurant; I just think it's super funny they call them this  
> Enka - a style of old school Japanese music that kind of fused traditional music with modern vocal jazz

“You’re moving to Hong Kong??” Taeyong watched his sister’s reaction with bated breath as she plucked a slab of mutton from the grill and shoved it into her mouth, incredulous. “With your gangster boyfriend who you’ve only known for a month and a half?” 

Taeyong nodded silently, letting his sister get her entire response out before daring to explain any further. She finished chewing and swallowed her meat. 

“I swear, Taeyong, you’ve always had shitty judgement, but this might just take the cake.” 

Taeyong frowned, reaching to grab some food for himself and placing it on his plate to cool. The last time he’d spoken to his sister was over the phone – the way they usually communicated – shortly after he’d been taken on by the Inagawa-kai. That was maybe five weeks ago, since he’d waited a good week or so to let her know since he wanted to be able to reassure her he wasn’t in imminent danger. _God_ , thought Taeyong, _imagine not being in imminent danger. Funny that._

After his little brainstorming session with Yuta, Kun, and Goro about Kun’s _idea_ , Taeyong knew immediately he needed to update Hye-young; preferably in person. She’d recommended they meet at her favorite Genghis Khan restaurant, but when Taeyong had looked it up on a map, it was way too close to the neighborhoods with the heaviest yakuza activity, so he found a different one that was totally out of the way for both of them. This meant Hye-young was already a bit cranky. 

Hye-young panted around a particularly hot piece of mushroom, fanning at her open mouth. 

Taeyong took a bite. “Wasn’t that on fire like, two seconds ago?” 

Hye-young glared. “I’m absolutely not taking any critiques about safety from you.” 

Taeyong shrugged. “Fair enough. But you won’t be convincing me otherwise on this move. I’m not asking your opinion, I’m just here to let you know and to say so long for now.” 

Hye-young’s face twitched, betraying an emotion other than irritation for the first time since they’d arrived. She sighed, posing her chopsticks against her plate. 

“Yonggie,” she huffed, “I’m sorry I’m being a little bitchy, but this is just a lot to handle. We rarely talk, but you know how much I still care about you and want us to have a relationship. I thought things with you were relatively okay and then suddenly you’re calling me and telling me you joined the yakuza when I thought you outgrew all that gang shit a long time ago. And now I know it was because of a _guy_ , I mean you’re obviously not thinking with your brain!” She took a swig from her glass of shochu. 

“Well, it wasn’t because of a guy originally,” Taeyong mumbled. 

Hye-young picked her utensils back up and gestured with them. “Whatever! And, you’re changing where we meet because apparently if we went to my place, we might both get killed! Like, what the hell? This has just been quite the onslaught of information is all…” 

Taeyong nodded. “I understand. And I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I wanted to let you know and now you know.” 

Hye-young’s eyes softened. “It’s alright, I guess. You’ve managed to survive this long under unfavorable circumstances, so I suppose you’ve got _something_ figured out.” She smiled and Taeyong smiled back. She had a point. “Hey,” 

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” Hye-young said, reaching for Taeyong’s hand. Their fingers intertwined. “Even if you are a certifiable idiot,” she added and Taeyong glowered playfully. 

“I love you too,” Taeyong reciprocated, taking a bite of his grilled meat. “Even if you’re a certified bitch.” 

Hye-young cackled and they sat in silence, stuffing their faces as a staff member came over to tend the fire under their grill. 

“Did you tell eomma and appa about what I’ve been…up to?” 

Hye-young nodded thoughtfully. “I didn’t at first, since you didn’t seem to want me to, understandably. But I did tell them after a few weeks because I figured they deserved to know before some random gangster showed up at their apartment to tell them you’d died or something. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” Taeyong assured. “How are they?” 

Hye-young shrugged. “Same as ever,” she ventured. “They’ve still got the dry-cleaners. It’s still barely breaking even. When I visit them, eomma cooks too much and appa picks fights just like the old days. You’re not missing anything.” 

Taeyong’s face fell at the thought that he had nothing he could do to support his parents. They’d kicked him out in the first place though, he reasoned, so he supposed he didn’t really owe them anything.

He accidentally gulped down an ice cube as he drank from his glass of water. “Do you –” Hye-young looked at her brother expectantly. “Do you think they’d want to see me before I leave?” 

He watched his sister sigh, shoulders going heavy as she set down a bowl of rice. “Honestly, probably not, Taeyong,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.” 

Taeyong pinched a smile from his cheeks. It lasted half a second. “No, it’s fine,” he said. “I kind of figured. That’s probably for the best, anyway. Can you tell them, though?” 

“Sure thing,” Hye-young confirmed. “How much of it though?” 

Taeyong downed an entire charred spring onion. It was harder to chew than he’d anticipated. “All of it,” Taeyong said, trying not to choke on the onion’s stalk down his throat. “Spare them no grizzly detail.” 

Hye-young raised her eyebrows. “As you wish,” she said. “But damn, Yong, you’re a little crazy, you know that?” 

Taeyong giggled, shaking his head and swallowing finally. “M’not. Swear.” 

Hye-young giggled too, and they lapsed into amicable silence for a moment as they enjoyed their food. 

“Taeyong?” 

“Yeah?” 

Hye-young looked unsure. It reminded Taeyong of when they were kids and she had yet to develop her hard, cool-girl exterior. He used to feel the need to protect her. Now, it was the other way around. 

“This guy,” 

“Yuta,” Taeyong reminded. 

Hye-young bobbed her head, eyes fixed to the table. “Right. _Yuta_. Does he love you?” 

Hye-young’s question made Taeyong splutter. He was incredulous at first that she would even ask that; she wasn’t much of a romantic, and she knew full well that Taeyong and Yuta were still relatively early-on in their relationship. At the same time, in the last six weeks there had hardly been a waking minute that the two of them weren’t together, and their dynamic had blossomed faster than anything Taeyong had experienced before. 

Taeyong shivered as he allowed himself to consider his sister’s question seriously. He’d never used the L-word with Yuta, but then again, they had never had the ‘boyfriends’ conversation either. It had simply gotten so obvious that they didn’t need to. Actions, Taeyong surmised, spoke louder than words, and Yuta’s entire way of interacting with him had screamed ‘care’ and ‘love’ almost from the beginning. He looked at his sister and smiled contemplatively. 

“Yeah,” he decided, and the edge of Hye-young’s mouth pitched up just barely. “He does.” 

“And you love him?” 

Taeyong had to think less about this one. He nodded. “Yes,” he confirmed. “I do.” 

A waiter came by at this supremely awkward moment of emotional vulnerability, asking if they were ready to pay. They were. 

“Well then,” Hye-young said a bit breathlessly once they were alone again at their table. “I guess I don’t have anything to worry about.” 

Hye-young paid the bill even though Taeyong protested, assuring him that she had a Real Job now as a receptionist and could afford to treat her dumb-ass little brother now and again. 

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, motioning towards the entrance with her head. “Before one of us gets kidnapped or something.” 

They hugged on the street outside. Taeyong couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged his sister, and he found himself holding back tears until it was too much, and they were spilling over onto her wool shawl, mixing with her own. He sniffled. 

“Thank you for everything, eonni.” 

Hye-young pulled away. In her high-heeled boots she was taller than her brother. “Sure, Taeyong.” She cleared a tear welling in her eye. “Don’t do anything else too stupid and make sure to call every once in a while. I’ll always be here for you, even if next time I see you you’re like, covered in tattoos or something else ridiculous that will no doubt give our parents a heart attack.” 

Taeyong laughed at that. He didn’t know why they didn’t talk more. It was probably in part because he and his sister had gone through an antagonistic patch when they were in their late teens and early twenties respectively, and because anything having to do with his family only made Taeyong feel ashamed. But as he looked at his intelligent and beautiful sister before him, he was absolutely sure he couldn’t have gotten luckier on the sibling front. It was one less thing to worry about. 

***

Kun’s “idea” was relatively simple. Yuta needed a cover story that would convince Mitsubishi he wasn’t actually part of the Inagawa-kai anymore, and both he and Taeyong needed some means of protection and lying low until this whole thing had blown over and every Yamaguchi member and ally in the prefecture wasn’t out for their blood. Goro had already promised the Triads a couple Inagawa agents who spoke Mandarin and Cantonese to act as liaisons in Hong Kong, so Kun proposed that Yuta and Taeyong come along too as part of the delegation. Neither of them spoke any Chinese dialect, but Yuta could be useful nonetheless due to his high rank, and Taeyong could be confined to missions with Sicheng, Yukhei, Kunhang, Yangyang, and Dejun. Besides, Kun had reiterated, he felt like he owed Yuta for the deal happening at all. 

If this worked, Yuta and Taeyong could stay hidden for a couple months as the Inagawa-kai worked to contain any leaks about Yuta’s sexual orientation and damage controlled their way into being undisputedly the most powerful criminal organization not just in Tokyo, but in the whole Kanto region. 

Taeyong remembered the way Momo’s eyes had sparkled as she kneeled on an embroidered knee pad next to her father in the den of his mansion, head backlit by the flayed remains of one of the Inagawa-kai’s founding members. 

“ _Fu Shan Chu_ , that’s perfect,” she’d said. “I was starting to worry since I couldn’t get anything official organized in the Republic of Korea. I tried to contact Junmyeon’s men, but it was tough since we haven’t had relations with them in years. This is so much better.” 

Kun had smiled. “Glad to be of service.” 

Taeyong had exchanged a glance with Yuta, allowing himself to relax a bit. Momo was right, wasn’t she? _This was so much better_. 

***

Goro decided to host a party at his mansion, to celebrate securing the Mitsubishi arrangement but also to bid Yuta and Taeyong a temporary goodbye. This meant that after Taeyong’s lunch with his sister, he spent the rest of the afternoon trying to organize his apartment and pick out what to wear. He settled on a grey velour blazer, a white shirt, grey pants, and faux snakeskin boots. The outfit perfectly suited his entire fashion ethos: better to look expensive than to _be_ expensive. 

When he arrived in the very room in which he’d nearly been demoted days earlier, the party was already in full swing. In fact, of all the 15th regiment and Triads, it appeared he was the last to turn up. Doyoung, Taeil, Jungwoo, and Yukhei were chatting in a corner, champagne flutes in hand as they watched Johnny and Mina swing dancing in the middle of the room; Donghyuk and Mark grazed the snack table; Ten and Sicheng were trying to teach Yangyang, Dejun, and Kunhang some traditional Chinese dance moves (without much luck); Jungwoo was explaining to Renjun and Jeno how to win a fight using pressure points while the rest of the youngest invitees flitted about the room causing chaos in their street clothes; and Kun and Yuta leaned against a table, clinking glasses and laughing over something one of them had said. 

Taeyong stepped further into the space, taking in the scene fondly but also noting in vague terror the black-clad guards stationed by the doors. There had been more outside. Then, he made his way over to Kun and Yuta. The rest of the room noticed him one by one as he moved, waving or nodding to him in acknowledgement. 

Yuta smiled when he saw him. He had on a black dress shirt with a crushed red velvet blazer over it. It was…certainly a Look.

“You made it,” he remarked, and Taeyong shot him a glance meant to convey “obviously.” 

Kun leaned in. “Yuta was just about to get a search party together to make sure no one had absconded with you on your way here.” 

Taeyong pushed his hand playfully into Yuta’s satiny shirt. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he teased. Despite this, it chilled him a little to think how Yuta’s concern actually wasn’t all that ridiculous.

“It’s true,” Yuta said, eyes going wide to underscore the gravity of his jest. “I should have accompanied you, but it didn’t really work out scheduling-wise. Want something to drink?” 

Taeyong answered in the affirmative and Yuta poured him a glass of bubbly. He usually didn’t do well with champagne – it made him a giggly mess and then put him to sleep – but he figured it was a special occasion. Yuta and Kun inclined their glasses towards each other and Taeyong joined. 

“To things working out,” Kun said with a smile, and the other two men repeated enthusiastically. 

“ _Kanpai_!”

Kun grinned. “ _Gānbēi_!” he said, almost as a correction. 

Taeyong threw in a “ _geonbae_ ” for good measure. 

Once they had finished slugging the better part of their drinks, Taeyong turned back around to regard the room. From his new vantagepoint, he noticed that Momo was also in attendance, snacking with Mark and Donghyuck and accosting Donghyuck’s friends every time they threatened to get out of control. 

“Goro here?” Taeyong inquired and Yuta shrugged. 

“He’s around somewhere.” 

The melody of an old _enka_ song drifted through the air and Taeyong thought that even if Goro wasn’t there physically at that very moment, he was certainly leaving his mark on the music selection. Taeyong faced Yuta again, startling a little at how close the other man had gotten to him when he wasn’t looking. 

“Want to dance?” 

Taeyong smiled, allowing Yuta to pull him to the center of the room next to where Johnny and Mina were slow dancing. Taeyong felt eyes on him – like everyone in the room wanted to speak with him and Yuta but knew better than to interrupt their little bubble. They swayed side to side, Taeyong’s right hand tangled in Yuta’s left and Yuta’s left hand resting on Taeyong’s waist. The way Yuta was looking at him almost embarrassed him. It reminded him of how he’d stared as Taeyong cleaned up their takoyaki cooking project. It was like Yuta was trying to see inside him; like he wanted to _eat_ him. 

“You okay?” Yuta asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Taeyong lied. 

“Good. Great. How’s your sister, by the way?”

“She’s alright. She wasn’t upset, like I thought she’d be. She asked –” _She asked if you loved me._

Yuta raised an eyebrow, wondering what Taeyong was keeping inside. 

“She asked about you,” Taeyong course corrected. This was neither the place nor the time.

Yuta smirked. “Oh yeah? What did you say?” 

Taeyong shot the look right back as he readjusted his fingers in Yuta’s grip. 

“Only good things,” he said. 

Their faces were so close that Taeyong could make out his reflection in Yuta’s eyes. He reexamined the floaty feeling that had haunted him his whole life, his feet pressing into the floor with each step and feeling so unusually grounded that the soles of his shoes might as well have been sprouting roots. Sure, he was used to seeing himself as a drifter, a rover: from job to job, friend to friend, apartment to apartment, man to man. But seeing his ghostly image over Yuta’s brown irises made him wonder if maybe he’d succeeded in finding something – or someone, rather – to tether him. He didn’t know how to express this though, and it was making his head want to explode. He didn’t have to think about it for too long, though.

“Just kiss!” 

It was Donghyuck. Of course it was. Taeyong turned to see much of the regiment looking in his and Yuta’s direction and his cheeks went hot. Still, he laughed as Momo lodged a sharp elbow right into Donghyuck’s rib in payback for the interruption. He feigned great injury, eliciting an overreaction of laughter spilling forth from Mark’s mouth. 

“Anyway,” said Donghyuck, ever the master of ceremonies. “Now that I have your attention, I think it’s time for a toast!”

Donghyuck stood on a chair, narrowly avoiding tumbling to the floor multiple times, as he described with what emotional fervor he would miss his boss and pretended to wipe tears from his eyes. Yuta took it all in stride. 

Taeyong didn’t really expect almost everyone else to join in with their own thoughts once Donghyuck had wrapped up, but they did, and he stood by Yuta’s side for the whole thing, growing more and more embarrassed all the while. The only thing stopping him from melting into a puddle on the floor was Yuta’s good spirits and firm arm around him. 

Johnny, Doyoung, and Taeil thanked Yuta for his good work as their boss, Johnny promising to do his best to fill the role while Yuta was away as the other two men jokingly bemoaned having to take orders from him. Next came Jaehyun. 

“So, uh, I still love you, man,” he said, looking into his glass of Hibiki as he swirled it around, “even though you definitely got me in trouble with my dad the other day.” 

Yuta laughed sheepishly. 

“But in all seriousness, you’re a stand-up guy, Yuta. You too, Taeyong. _Shategashira_ , I’m going to miss being the only person you’re not fucking who’s allowed to sit on your desk.”

Taeyong audibly groaned but Jaehyun just barreled through. 

“Well, that and beating you at wrestling. I will go out of my way to come see you in Hong Kong. You can hold me to that. I’m already anticipating your safe return.” 

Then, Jungwoo and Mark cut in, saying they had some parting gifts with them so Yuta and Taeyong wouldn’t forget about their little operation in Akihabara. 

“For Yuta,” Mark said, holding a chain necklace with a little silver ball as a pendant. Yuta squinted at the gift cutely as Mark explained. “It’s a pachinko ball. And I put it on a chain since I know you like chain necklaces.” Yuta grinned bright as the sun as he accepted the bespoke jewelry, holding a hand over his heart and bowing. 

“And for Taeyong,” Jungwoo said, “I got a variety pack of lollipops – since you don’t smoke either.” Taeyong burst into laughter. He had not expected to leave this party with several months’ worth of candy. “And,” Jungwoo went on, pulling something from the inner pocket of his jacket, “my lucky screw-driver. I use it on computers, but I figured it’d probably work for the more delicate parts of most motor vehicles. It has my initials on it, so you’ll keep me in the back of your mind!”

It was a silly gift, but Taeyong was touched, nonetheless. “Thank you,” he said genuinely as he went to retrieve the presents. “You guys were the first people I really spent time with in the Inagawa-kai and you made a really rough situation for me into something bearable. I appreciate it. Even if I didn’t seem to at the time.” 

“Aiiiii,” Jaemin said once Taeyong’s little speech had been sufficiently processed by the room. “It’s not like they’re dying, guys. They’ll be back in a matter of months.” Jeno glared at him but Jaemin didn’t seem to care. He shrugged. “I’m just saying.” 

Yuta laughed them off and Doyoung scolded. “You’re going to need to show more respect if you ever want to be initiated,” he said snidely. 

“What he meant, _Shategashira_ ,” Jisung interjected, “was to thank you for your protection and for agreeing to take us on as new recruits.” 

“Yeah,” said Jaemin. “Exactly.” 

“Hold on,” Chenle yelled from a chair just removed from the Inagawa Goodbye Committee. “Does that mean you guys have to call Johnny _Shategashira_ now?” 

Johnny smirked, purposefully puffing his chest out to be as obnoxious as possible. “Sure does!” Taeyong’s heart did a little flip at the way Mina looked up at him proudly. 

Chenle snorted. “That’s funny.” The rest of the Triads stood in his general vicinity, quietly respectful except for Sicheng, who nudged his foot harshly into Chenle’s calf to shut him up. 

Before that whole interaction could be unpacked, Taeil was pointing out that Momo hadn’t said anything yet. 

She breathed a laugh, eyes watering. 

“What can I say?” she began. “You give me a heart attack every other day, Yuta, but I love you, you bastard. You already know that. Taeyong-san,”

He straightened in Yuta’s grip. 

“I was looking forward to getting to know you better, but that’ll have to wait, I suppose. Take good care of my fiancé, okay? He could use some help.” 

At this, they both cracked up. Once he’d gathered himself, Taeyong figured he should probably respond. “I look forward to getting to know you too, Momo-san. And I will.” He looked up at Yuta, whose eyes were half-lidded in infatuation as he met Taeyong’s gaze. “I promise.” 

“Oh god it’s sickeningly sweet,” Donghyuck complained. “Why did I start this?” 

Yuta scrunched his face up at his young subordinate. “Because you love me, why else?” he teased. 

“I think this has been sufficient in the sentimental goodbye department,” said Johnny. “Especially since, as Jaemin-kun so tactfully pointed out, they will be returning. They better be, anyway. So, everybody drink up! That’s an order from your commander.” About half the group rolled their eyes, but they followed instructions anyway.

Several minutes later, Goro reemerged from wherever he’d been and was prodded by Yuta’s increasingly inebriated regiment into making his own short toast, praising Yuta’s quick-thinking skills and Kun’s strategizing (something somehow everyone else had forgotten to do). He even managed to throw a few kind words Taeyong’s way, though Taeyong took them with a grain of salt. Afterwards, the dancing recommenced, with the young recruits convincing Momo to ask her father to play something more upbeat. She requested a dance with Yuta, and Taeyong was more than happy to oblige and get a few minutes of rest. He’d shed his jacket after champagne number three, and he knew he was going to have a bitch of a time relocating it. He grabbed himself some water and sat in the sunken alcove at the edge of the room with the lacquered table. He wondered to himself if the guards stationed at the party’s periphery weren’t getting tired or hungry. He wondered what they thought of him.

“Hey.” 

Taeyong startled, laughing as he realized it was only Mina sitting down next to him. 

“Oh, hey.” 

“So,” she began, “you’re in it now.” 

Taeyong took a sip of water, feeling it flushing the toxins in his body further towards their eventual exit. “Yeah. I know what you said a few weeks ago but uh, I’m bad at taking advice, I guess.” 

Mina only chuckled, sipping her champagne to mimic her conversation partner. “Hey, it’s all good to me. I’m not that worried about you anymore now that you’ve seen some shit. I heard you killed a guy.” 

“Oh,” Taeyong acknowledged. He’d heard that too. “Yeah, I did.” 

“If you ever need to talk about anything, I’m always available,” was all Mina said about it. 

“Thanks,” Taeyong said, nodding as relief flooded him. He didn’t know if vocalizing his next thought was a good idea, but the alcohol in him was making decisions faster than his brain could. “Mina-san?” 

“Yeah?” 

“When you gave me the interrogation training, you said it had come in handy for you. Were you…okay?” Mina looked a little confused and Taeyong kicked himself, feeling like an idiot. “I mean, obviously you’re okay, but like, was it bad?” 

A calm understanding flickered over Mina’s face. “I didn’t get hurt too severely before Johnny came and got me out of it,” was all she offered by way of detail. “If that’s what you’re asking.” 

Taeyong nodded frantically. He was not about to press any further. 

“But hey,” Mina said with a smile, “if the way you look at Yuta is anything to go by, you definitely seem prepared to make this sacrifice.” 

Taeyong leaned down over the black table and looked up at Mina with a sigh. “You’re right.” She was so kind and so beautiful; he had a hard time remembering she was real. Johnny was a lucky guy. 

“You and Johnny must really love each other,” he blurted. Mina smiled in a way that was both patronizing and a confirmation. She ruffled his hair and stood. 

“You’re a little drunk, silly,” she teased, standing. She wasn’t wrong. “I’ll see you when you rejoin the party.” 

“Okay.” 

Taeyong felt the weight of alcohol-induced sleepiness overtaking him as he laid against the table, and he blinked to try and get rid of it, jolting when he saw someone standing directly over him in the slits of his vision. When he opened his eyes fully and calmed his heart rate, he found that it was Ten, staring down at him inquisitively with big eyes. 

“Did I scare you?” he asked. 

_Always_. Taeyong wanted to know what could have possibly happened to Ten to make him act the way he did, but he smothered the impulse to ask. He sat up. 

“Uh, yeah you did.” 

“Sorry for that,” Ten said, but he didn’t seem very sorry. He indicated to the space right next to Taeyong where Mina had been only moments earlier. “May I?” 

Taeyong sighed. “By all means.” 

Ten sat and took a sip of his drink. “How are you doing?” he asked. 

“I’m alright,” Taeyong responded, still a bit on edge as he always was with Ten. “A little exhausted. Also, I have mixed feelings about this room, so that’s something.” 

Ten chuckled in understanding. “I bet you do,” he said. They went silent for a moment, both pairs of eyes trained ahead to the center of the room where Yuta and Momo were dancing and laughing together. 

“Wanna know a secret?” Ten offered without averting his forward gaze. 

Taeyong smiled. “I don’t know,” he said. “Is this gonna be like when you asked if I wanted to see something cool and then you showed me a bunch of very frightening weapons?” 

“No, no. Promise it’s not,” Ten said, turning to Taeyong and smiling. His expression was almost adorable, Taeyong realized, the glint in Ten’s eye betraying a tentative hope and excitement that Taeyong couldn’t quite place. 

“Alright,” he said, intrigued. “What is it?” 

Ten’s voice came out even raspier than usual. “I, too, prefer the company of men.”

 _Oh…_ somehow this was simultaneously not at all what Taeyong had expected him to say and exactly what he’d expected. He looked Ten up and down, echoing the way Ten had looked him over the day they’d met. He’d kind of always assumed, but he wasn’t one to pry, considering his own experiences. 

So yeah, he’d figured Ten was gay, but he didn’t know him very well, and he was quite afraid of him, so he’d barely allowed himself to dwell too much on the Triad’s potential sexuality. He giggled to himself lowly. _Why, by the way, had Ten said it like he was a 19th century dandy?_ Taeyong wondered. Was it because Japanese wasn’t his first language, or was he just Like That?

Ten glared. “What’s so amusing?” 

Taeyong waved his hands in front of him, trying to show he meant nothing by his little outburst. 

“Nothing. Nothing!” he said. “I – I just sorta figured.” 

Ten looked away and huffed. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m clockable from a mile away, aren’t I? Well, to other gays, at least.” 

“Is that why you feel the need to be so damn scary?” Taeyong asked. 

Ten smiled slowly. “You think I’m ‘damn scary?’” 

Taeyong nodded emphatically as Ten sipped more champagne. 

“Good.” Ten shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe. It just feels natural.” Ten looked back at Taeyong and something clicked in his brain. 

“Wait!” he said, and now it was Ten who was jolting at the intensity of Taeyong’s facial expression. “Is this why you’re always looking at me weirdly?” 

Ten cackled. “I wasn’t aware I’ve been looking at you weirdly, but I guess.” He leaned in like he had another secret to share. “I’m a little jealous.” 

Taeyong balked. His heavy eyes flitted to his boyfriend on the dance floor. “Of Yuta?”

Ten waved him off. “No, no, not of Yuta. Of the two of you. Together…” Ten’s face twitched. 

Taeyong wanted so, so badly to know more about the enigma of a man sitting next to him, but something in Ten’s demeanor was starting to feel like a door being closed, so he figured he’d have to wait. Sure enough, Ten sighed and rose to his feet. 

“Well, that’s enough emotions for one lifetime.” He downed the rest of his drink. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on, hm?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong acknowledged. “I guess so. Hey Ten? Who else knows…about you?”

Ten grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Only my closest friends and the trail of broken hearts I leave in my wake. And now you. So shhhh.” Taeyong nodded in understanding, trying not to betray just how intrigued he was by this whole conversation, and Ten turned to walk away with a “see you around” thrown in almost as an afterthought.

Taeyong watched Ten saunter back to the rest of the party, Yuta and Momo still swaying in his peripheral vision. They looked good together, Taeyong thought, and that had a bittersweet sentiment rolling around in his gut. What a strange trick of fate that he and Sana had ended up being the other women, so to speak. 

Before going back home, Taeyong rejoined Yuta, stealing a quick kiss when no one was looking. He was a little sad they hadn’t gotten to talk more, but he supposed they’d have a whole exile to do that. At least.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Yuta asked, grin tinged just barely with wistfulness. 

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah. Did you?” 

“I did.” 

Taeyong slotted himself in against the wall next to Yuta, pressing his side into the other man and his back into the molding on the wall. 

“What did you and Momo talk about?” he asked, eyebrows waving saucily. Yuta laughed.

“Oh,” he answered. “Just the future.” 

_Just?_ Taeyong stared at his boyfriend. “That’s a pretty wide and nebulous concept, Yuta.” 

Yuta nodded in agreement, pulling a drag from his cigarette. “You’re right.” He reached his injured hand out to graze against the side of Taeyong’s thigh. The motion was almost sad, as it was how Yuta would usually ask for his hand to be held, but in this moment it couldn’t be. Despite this, Taeyong took it gingerly and dropped a kiss to the top of the splint. 

“What did you and Ten talk about?” Yuta countered. 

Taeyong looked around coquettishly. “Oh, just the complexity of human emotion,” he answered, like a bitch. Yuta smirked. 

“No, you didn’t,” he said, but he didn’t press. 

“This doesn’t feel real yet,” Taeyong remarked, watching everyone in the room mill about to say their goodbyes for the night. “That we’re leaving.” 

Yuta chuckled. “It will tomorrow morning,” he said, pushing off the wall. “See you bright and early.” 

Taeyong gathered up his jacket and his gifts before heading out. Johnny drove him back to his apartment (at Yuta’s nervous request) and left him with a hug before pulling away in his long-suffering orange Honda. Taeyong went inside and sleepily finished packing up the rest of his things that hadn’t yet been crammed into cardboard boxes. The syndicate would guard the apartment for him as yet another safehouse until he got back, and for that he was grateful. He was to leave the furniture and anything he didn’t want for himself behind. 

He brushed the wine from his teeth and washed his face before bed. At the last minute he reached into one of his dressers and dug out a photograph of his family taken when he was about eleven. He stared at it for a moment, trying to think back on what of his current self had existed in the pudgy little boy in the portrait. He folded the photo over so it was just him and his sister, then shoved it in his wallet before heading to bed. 

In the morning, he awoke at five o’ clock and took an Inagawa escort to the Port of Tokyo, where he was dropped with all his things in front of one of many cargo tankers. He’d always found those things a little creepy; the way they sat like fortresses in the bay, reminding Taeyong at once of slugs and phantoms. There was something extremely alien about them; the way they moved, the way they crooned their lonely sirens and woke him up with the sea breeze in the middle of the night. He had a hard time imagining any humans ever stepping foot in them, yet here he was. 

This particular ship was painted in stripes of red and blue with an inscription on the side that said “Angel of Hong Kong” in Chinese (Taeyong could read it because it was written the same way in Japanese). Some burley guys approached him and took his boxes for him as he walked up a collapsible metal staircase to the ship’s deck. It was rusting and about the length of a soccer field, with men in Mitsubishi mechanic’s uniforms scurrying about and organizing shipments, but there was nothing obstructing Taeyong’s vision all the way to the rounded point of the bow. 

A figure leaned against it facing away from him, looking off into the pre-dawn mist. Taeyong recognized that posture easily. The deck was so long that it took Taeyong a couple minutes to cover it, but he didn’t want to yell Yuta’s name and spoil the serenity. He doubted himself about half of the way there when he’d fully adjusted to the dim light and drawn close enough to Yuta to notice that he’d dyed his hair again. It was red this time, but it undoubtedly belonged to him. 

“Good morning Yuta,” he greeted once he was a few steps behind him. Yuta turned around with a bright smile and Taeyong giggled at the man he saw. As he’d noticed, Yuta had apparently dyed his hair on a whim sometime between the party the night before and that morning, but along with that, he wore a white tank top, a printed scarf, and a baggy fuchsia blazer. He looked like someone had drawn him in outline, then placed a box of crayons in front of a toddler and asked them to color him in. He looked amazing. 

“Nice outfit,” Taeyong teased through his laughter. Yuta looked down at himself as if to say, ‘what, this old chestnut?’ 

“I’m so beyond caring at this point,” Yuta said with a wry smile, flicking some ash from his cigarette over the edge of the boat. “So, I decided I might as well dress like a fucking rainbow and see how that works out. You ready?” 

Taeyong nodded, feet fidgeting over the chipping paint beneath them. “I hope so? It’ll be an adventure.” 

“That it will be. Are you excited?” 

“I am,” Taeyong said honestly. “Since I’ll be with you.” 

Taeyong watched Yuta’s smile spread, and for the first time since he’d been abducted, there was nothing else behind it – nothing but pure happiness and relief as the sea air tousled his crimson hair. 

Taeyong had the rare thought that maybe his talent for getting into trouble was actually poised to turn out for the best. As a rule, he didn’t like to get his hopes up, but as he looked at the ridiculous man in front of him, he thought that just maybe he had something awaiting him that he could look forward to. 

**///**

Yuta leaned against the bow of the Angel of Hong Kong, smoking with his left hand, which was quickly adapting itself to the ritual, and tapping the metal piece of his splint against the ship’s side to produce a soft rhythmic clanking. He looked out into the brume ahead of him. Somewhere in that dark early morning fog was a bay, then an ocean. He could smell it.

After Taeyong had told him he was meeting with Hye-young, Yuta had considered calling his mother and sisters to let them know he’d be out of country for a while. In the end though, he’d decided against it. At least for the time being. He knew that call could go one of only two ways: either his family would use this fiasco as a means of saying “told you so” and “good riddance,” or they’d be excited and use it to try to convince him to quit altogether. He was not psyched about the prospect of either conversation. 

He still didn’t know exactly what to make of his future, but he did know he didn’t want others meddling in it, so he decided to leave that phone call for a later date. 

He took a drag as a seagull squawked overhead, letting the smoke dissipate into the humid air around him as he let it out. 

He thought about the night before. He thought about dancing with Taeyong. The other man had seemed somewhat reserved, and it was making him nervous. Yuta didn’t totally know how to handle it when people seemed to be holding things in. His usual tactic would have been to act shameless about his curiosity and get in the other person’s face, but he didn’t want to do that to Taeyong. _In time_. 

He thought about dancing with Momo. He had taken the opportunity to confront her about her own romantic conquest. 

“So…you and Sana.” 

Momo had twirled her way in and out of Yuta’s arms with a smirk. Goro made them learn ballroom dancing together in high school, so this was like clockwork for them. 

“Yeah,” Momo acknowledged. “She’s a better kisser than you, sorry to say.” 

Yuta pretended to be wounded. “First of all, rude!” he said. “I was sixteen!” 

They grapevined their feet to the side in unison. 

“Also, it’s been like a week since you met,” Yuta remarked. “What the hell?” 

Momo raised an eyebrow. “I have my ways,” she said. “Also look who’s talking.”

Yuta scoffed. “I at least waited like two and a half!” 

“Because you were scared,” Momo jested. She had a point. “And you went the full nine yards like, right away.”

Yuta rolled his eyes, catching a glimpse of Taeyong in his peripheral vision. He was talking to Ten on the edge of the room. Yuta kind of wished he could have been a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation. “Not the _full_ nine yards,” he said, petulant. 

“Whatever,” Momo said, following perfectly as Yuta took them in a wide circle. “I don’t even want to think about that. It’s gross.” 

A few songs later and the conversation had completely shifted. Momo was suggesting that someday, when they were married, they could adopt a kid together and raise it to be the greatest yakuza leader Japan had ever seen. Yuta looked at her like she was certified crazy. 

“You do realize you’re describing a recipe for the world’s most fucked up child, right?” 

Momo laughed in that reedy way of hers. “I suppose you’re right. We’ll get to that when we get to it.” 

Yuta grinned. “Thanks for all your help lately,” he said. “There’s no one else I’d rather be fake-engaged to.” 

Momo grinned back as the song faded out. “Likewise.” Her eyes flickered in thoughtful concern before she spoke again. “Be good to Taeyong, alright? I like him. He’s a kind person.” 

Yuta’s heart felt like it was straining to grow in his chest. “Don’t worry. I will.” 

Before Yuta could lose himself too far in recent memories, Taeyong was shaking him out of his contemplative stupor with a greeting. Taeyong wore a pair of circumstantially appropriate white sailor trousers and a thick sweater. As if to underscore his own cute simplicity, he made a snarky comment about Yuta’s colorful ensemble. Yuta turned around and smiled, volleying the snark right back. He’d let his tendency towards the tacky fully take over for the day, opting to dress himself as what he imagined the love child of a disco song and a Memphis Group interior would look like. He’d also dyed his hair again, because he didn’t feel like hiding anymore behind his natural color, and he had the brief luxury of not needing to. 

He asked Taeyong if he was excited. The other man looked uncertain for a moment, his brow furrowing and his lip caught between his teeth, but he quickly relaxed and made eye contact with the softest gaze. 

“I am. Since I’ll be with you.” 

Yuta wanted to cry. Whatever insanity had led up to this moment, he decided, it had all been worth it. 

“Oh my god, come here,” he said, and Taeyong sidled up next to him to lean against the bow. Yuta offered Taeyong his cigarette, but he waved him off. 

“Entirely too early for that,” Taeyong said with a breezy laugh. 

“I’m excited too,” Yuta said, and he knew he didn’t have to expand that thought any more. Taeyong looked at him in understanding. 

“I mean,” Yuta went on anyway, “I’m going to miss everyone. And I’ll miss my old routines. I’ll especially miss living somewhere where I can be easily understood…” 

“We can enroll in language courses together,” Taeyong said, nudging his hip into Yuta’s. Yuta nodded. 

“Let’s do it, then.” 

Taeyong looked concerned again, and Yuta’s heart did a little “!!” until Taeyong spoke, asking if Yuta was “like, really okay though.” 

Yuta crushed the embers of his spent cigarette into the wall of the deck he was leaning against. 

“I am,” he said. “This has just made me think a lot about…everything.” Yuta bugged his eyes out and gestured all-encompassingly, making Taeyong giggle. “You know, I’ve spent a lot of years suppressing my conscience and just following orders, but when I was hanging out of that building, I couldn’t help the realization that I couldn’t explain what I was about to die for, you know?” Taeyong nodded slowly and Yuta went on. “Like, I put myself completely on the line for -- for what? A few million yen and the right to ship contraband across a sea? That’s something only an insane person would do, is it not? How is that worth it?” Yuta shook his head and gestured with his shoulders. He was working himself up, but he couldn’t help it. “I wonder if that’s what my dad thought right before he was killed.” 

Taeyong sighed and Yuta figured he was probably sick of hearing about his daddy issues. _Oh well…_

“That’s true, I suppose,” Taeyong said. “But then again, would you rather be a salaryman? Working literally all day and never seeing your loved ones just so you can eke out enough money to be comfortable? Meanwhile your superiors just get richer and richer.” Taeyong frowned, looking a little peeved. “Or would you rather be like me? Hereditarily poor and wasting away in an auto shop? I felt like I was dead until a month and a half ago, Yuta.” 

Taeyong’s little speech took Yuta by surprise for a moment, but it also knocked some sense into him. His face melted empathetically, and he took Taeyong’s hand, kissing it on the knobby knuckles. 

“I wish we’d met earlier,” he admitted through a breathy laugh that tickled Taeyong’s hand. Taeyong’s eyes grew even bigger, if that was possible. 

“Heeeyyyyy!” someone was saying in English behind them. That syrupy low voice was very familiar. 

They turned as Yukhei approached them and placed them each in a headlock before leaning backwards against the front of the ship. 

“Hi Yukhei.” 

“You guys ready?” Yukhei’s smile reminded Yuta of a golden retriever puppy. _What an improbable human_ , he thought. 

Taeyong answered for them. “Yeah we are.” 

Yukhei turned around, hoisting himself up against his forearms, then back down. “Perfect! We’re going to have such a good time getting to know each other, I can tell. I’ll teach you guys Mandarin, and Canto, and English, and you can help me get better at Japanese!” 

Yuta laughed at his enthusiasm. It was especially a lot because of the early hour. “Do you speak fluent English?” he asked. 

Yukhei shook his head. “Not really,” he said, “but it’s fine! You don’t need to! Oh – and since I’m the only native Hongkonger you guys know, I can show you all my favorite places! I’ll make a list and we can get started on it right away! When we’re not working, I mean.” 

“Thank you Xuxi, that sounds wonderful,” said Taeyong, approaching the six-foot bundle of energy by Yuta’s side and laying an appreciative hand on his shoulder. 

Yangyang, Kunhang, and Dejun came practically tumbling out onto the deck from an elevated doorway a few yards away, followed by Sicheng. 

“Hey!” Yangyang accused, “Yuta and Taeyong were already here? Why didn’t they help load the cargo??” 

Kunhang walked over to the walled edge of the boat and pulled himself up onto it, sitting balanced. He held his nose in the air. Yuta couldn’t help thinking the kid looked like a prince straight out of Legend of the Galactic Heroes. 

“They obviously think they’re too good for such menial work,” he said, and then Dejun was joining in on his more rambunctious friends’ jest. 

“They’ll adjust eventually,” he said. 

Sicheng rolled his eyes. 

“Sure you still want to come with?” he asked, stretching gracefully, like a jaguar. 

“Between being tormented by these idiots and getting mutilated by the Yamaguchi-gumi, I will admit it was a difficult decision,” Yuta snarked, and the three young Triads gaped at him in offense. “But yeah, I’m sure.” 

Taeyong giggled, but the sound was interrupted by the deafening and hollow groan of the tanker’s horn. Yuta had never heard that sound from so close before, and it was chilling, rippling through every part of him. He was further shaken when Kunhang faltered from his perch, but he collected his balance and landed on the right side of the ship’s barrier, brushing himself off as if nothing had happened. Taeyong giggled harder, nearly collapsing against the railing probably out of nervous shock. 

“Kun, Ten, Renjun, and Chenle are here, right?” Yukhei asked once everything was calm again. 

“Yeah,” said Dejun. “They’re in there,” he pointed to the stalk-like tower of the ship where the humans stay, “having tea or something.”

Yuta felt another vibration run through him as the tanker’s engine rumbled alive. 

“Let’s go hooooome!” Sicheng yelled into the wind, and Yuta watched the thick black blocks of Tokyo’s skyscrapers disappear into the mist as the boat pulled away. He turned to Taeyong. He was watching it too, face a little awed at the mountain-sized grandeur of the city they were leaving behind. 

_No turning back now._

*** 

“Yuta, wake up!” 

Yuta startled at Taeyong’s voice. He lay on his side, hands folded against the mattress in front of him and head fully off the pillow just how he preferred. His right hand had faded from a near-black shade of purple to a sort of mottled and sickly forest green. At least that meant it was healing. 

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, trying to get them to focus past what was directly in front of them. When he did, he was looking straight out a window; a wall of glass at the top of the ship’s tower. Golden morning sunlight streamed into the room and he could see land on the horizon, green and rippled and lush like a patch of moss on the forest floor. 

The trip between Tokyo and Hong Kong had taken even longer than anticipated due to several license inspections by Japanese, Chinese, and American authorities. As expected, the Mitsubishi paperwork with which each group of certifiers was provided completely assuaged any suspicion on their part over the cargo. 

Yuta and Taeyong cooked and ate dinner together with the Triads (well, Kun, Taeyong, and Sicheng cooked while Yuta and Ten drank and the boys practiced boxing with a bag of milk powder). After, Yuta and Taeyong had been released to their quarters while the Triads who would be on night watch went off to their stations. 

It had been a little while. A stressful, pent-up little while, since Yuta and Taeyong had shared any sexual intimacy, so Yuta hadn’t been surprised by how needy Taeyong got once they’d settled in. 

It had been lazy and sweet, like honey. They removed their clothing (Yuta removed his splint too) and made out for so long Yuta lost track of time before Taeyong gave him a leisurely blowjob that had his eyes crossing. Then (after scrambling to find some lube in his suitcase), Taeyong prepped and lined himself up to ride Yuta with indulgence until his face was so pink Yuta could see it even in the dark, thumb nail caught between his teeth as he babbled on and on about how much he loved this, how much he loved Yuta’s cock, and all the things he couldn’t wait for them to try together. It made Yuta feel like he was losing his mind. 

It had been sweet and lazy, until it wasn’t. Yuta sat up and held Taeyong against him, careful not to grip with his broken hand. He thrust into the man above him until Taeyong was coming over his belly. Yuta pressed kisses into Taeyong’s chest while Taeyong held his head like a teddy bear. They’d slept well after, Yuta allowing himself to be lulled to sleep by the hypnotic drift of illuminated buoys in the dark. He never thought he’d have sex on a tanker ship, but his life had always been full of surprises. He smiled to himself once the memory hit him the next morning in that golden, honeyed light. 

Yuta leaned up on his elbow. “Almost there, huh?” he rasped, trying to push through the morning-voice stage of waking up. He felt Taeyong stirring behind him and pressing into his back. He set his chin in the crook of Yuta’s neck and nodded against his skin, then he hopped up, pulling a blanket from the bed with him so he wasn’t traipsing around naked, as much as Yuta would have been happy to see that. He approached the little radio sitting on the table in their room, fiddling with it until it hushed to life. He frowned cutely as he messed around looking for a station. When he found one, it was in English. 

“Woah!” Taeyong exclaimed, a pleased smile overtaking his face like a child awed by a magician. “Hear that, Yuta? We’re really there!” The English speaking stopped, giving way to a song in Mandarin Chinese. It was sung by a woman with a beautiful and soft voice that reminded Yuta of a mother singing to her children. 

“Double woah!” Taeyong said, and Yuta couldn’t help the grin that planted itself on his lips, unwilling to be deracinated. It almost hurt. Taeyong went on, oblivious. “I don’t think I’ve ever listened to Chinese music before,” he admitted. He let out a huff of breath and shimmied his way back to Yuta, pulling the blanket around himself and straddling him because he felt like being a menace, Yuta imagined. He leaned himself down against Yuta’s chest, pushing Yuta back into the bed. 

“Should we get dressed?” he asked, face all squished up. 

Yuta shook his head, running his hand through Taeyong’s hair and over his back.

“Not just yet,” he said. “Let’s stay like this for a minute.” 

“M’kay.” 

They looked out the wall of paneled windows beside the bed. One of them was still hinged open from the night before, letting in the warm and salt-heavy air. They were now close enough to the shore that Yuta could make out the city’s skyline, rising from the water like a wall and giving way to the emerald mountains behind it. He knew they should probably start getting themselves presentable to begin this new chapter on the right foot, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the moment of peace. _Just a little longer_. 

Yuta didn’t want to get too ahead of himself – Taeyong had warned him not to, after all. But he couldn’t help the thought that maybe he’d finally found his person. If Taeyong could stick with him through the last six weeks, then what could possibly turn him off? Maybe he was wrong, but this felt different from his previous misadventures in love. He squeezed Taeyong’s hand as he brought it over his heart. To Yuta, this felt like a new script altogether. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! Thank you for reading my quarantine fanfiction novel lmao. I've always wanted to write a gang-themed story and I'm pretty happy with how this came out. I really appreciate those of you who stuck with this story and hope that you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)  
> This is officially the longest thing I have ever written, by like a significant margin...kind of can't believe I didn't bail halfway through. Anyway, it's gonna get a little longer too because I have an epilogue chapter planned, so please look forward to that! Lots of love!


	13. Month VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-promised epilogue!! Not much in the way of plot but a little peek into their life in Hong Kong and some smut and fluff. Please heed BDSM tag and also there are some brief allusions to violence.

Taeyong was in a predicament; a predicament of his own making, that is. He had sealed his own fate when he’d asked Yuta to be mean to him, when he’d agreed to Yuta’s little game, and when he’d kept on agreeing to it. You see, it was a predicament, but a good one. 

Living with Yuta in Hong Kong came with its moments of melancholy – of nostalgia for the old days in Tokyo, for friends with whom it had grown difficult to communicate, and for not feeling like an idiot every time he opened his mouth in public – but mostly it had been a sort of bliss, just as Taeyong had hoped. A bliss of cooking, smoking, and watching the kitchen TV as if it were a puzzle in need of decoding, because it was. It was a domestic bliss that Taeyong had never even approached experiencing before Yuta (even if it included a few more weapons and arrest-scares, and a few fewer square feet of living space than most might picture at the utterance of a phrase like “domestic bliss”).

With this newfound bliss came a front row seat to every aspect of Yuta’s personality; his sometimes overwhelming manic energy and his terrifying precision as a mobster, but most of all, his instinct for tenderness. Taeyong loved this about him; the way Yuta guided him through every uncertainty, gave him the space he needed to determine his own position in life, and was more than happy spending an evening slow dancing in the kitchen and cuddling in bed while a monsoon battered the windows of their shoe-box apartment. 

Sometimes though, Taeyong got in a mood where he didn’t care about tenderness: he just needed to be folded over and destroyed. And if they had enough time on their hands, Yuta was more than happy to oblige him and put him in the best kinds of predicaments. 

That’s how he got here: feet tied up to the headboard over him with maroon rope, hands tied similarly to the opposite lower bedposts, drooling around a gag and crying as Yuta hovered over him, railing his ass so hard he hardly even remembered who he was. He’d asked Yuta to be rough with him, so he couldn’t say he wasn’t getting exactly what he wanted, but then again, Taeyong usually cried when he got what he wanted out of his boyfriend. 

A sharp whine escaped his lips, muffling uselessly behind the black ball gag between them, and Yuta smirked down at him. That was supposed to have been him begging, but Taeyong knew Yuta wouldn’t interpret it that way, just for the sake of torturing him. 

After tying him up, Yuta had explained that Taeyong could only come if he begged really sweetly. Taeyong had nodded, incessant. He could do that, and he desperately wanted whatever Yuta was willing to give him. But then, Yuta had gone to fetch a simple little ball gag, a smug look spreading over his face as he tapped his fingers against it. 

“Problem?” he’d asked when he saw Taeyong’s eyes go wide and his brow knit. How was he expected to beg with that in his mouth? He had non-verbal signals he could use to communicate his stoplight colors, but this? He had swallowed, shaking his head to assure that no, there was no problem.

“No, sir. M’ green.”

Yuta then leaned over to press a kiss to Taeyong’s temple as he affixed the gag. “Good boy. Now, let’s have some fun.”

The first part of their fun had involved Yuta fingering Taeyong’s hole until he was red and shaking, sucking at Taeyong’s nipples and teasing him about how worked up he was already. Yuta kept his rings on inside his boyfriend, and their texture as Yuta stretched him and grazed his prostate made Taeyong’s breath hitch after every desperate moan. 

The image of Yuta backhanding an adversary with the same set of rings went straight to Taeyong’s straining cock, and he didn’t even have the mental capacity to unpack that fact, so he just let it be, noticing vaguely that he was already starting to leak precome.  _ Fuck _ .

Yuta took a moment to detach his lips from Taeyong’s right nipple, gazing up at the man he was teasing with a look that made Taeyong twitch. It was equal parts adoration and calculated aggression, like he was strung out on his drug of choice. 

“I bet you could come just from this, hm sweetheart? Do you want to?”

Taeyong wriggled against his restraints. He wanted Yuta to touch him where he was aching, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, so he just nodded and tried to make noises of affirmation, squeezing his eyes closed. Part of him and Yuta living together for nearly six months and growing more comfortable with each other was that Yuta was now accustomed to unleashing the extent of his sadism in the bedroom, and as much as Taeyong squirmed and whimpered whenever that happened, he adored it. 

Yuta cocked his head, continuing to work his fingers in and out. “You can whenever you need to, darling. Just remember our rules, ya?”

Taeyong groaned.  _ Please, sir. May I please, please, please come for you? I’ll do it so prettily, sir, please _ , he vocalized, but it was nearly incomprehensible, getting stuck behind that infernal black plastic ball.

Yuta made a face of disappointment, obviously masking a grin behind it. He tutted. “Oh darling. I don’t understand broken moans. But that’s okay. You can try again later. Guess you don’t need to come yet after all.”

Taeyong’s chest dropped. It was really going to be like that, huh? He squirmed against Yuta as the familiar curl of warmth spread in his abdomen. He tried to beg Yuta to stop, but that didn’t work either, obviously, and before he could control himself, he was coming over his belly, shaking his head and muttering  _ m’sorry, m’sorry, m’sorry _ into the gag. 

Yuta’s voice came out sickeningly patronizing, but when Taeyong opened his eyes, his boyfriend’s face was flushed and love-struck. In fact, a flush had spread over his entire body, just visible under his tattoos. 

“Oh no, baby,” Yuta drawled. “I guess we’ll just have to keep going until you learn to control yourself. What do you think?”

Taeyong trembled already at the thought – also because Yuta hadn’t stopped finger-fucking him. He was in the stage of aftershocks when every touch felt like a ruined orgasm. He snapped his fingers.  _ Green _ . Yuta had given him an impossible task, but he figured he could still aim to impress, and he wanted to more than anything. 

Yuta smiled. 

That’s how Taeyong had ended up here: in his  _ predicament _ : Yuta fucking into him, pressing a palm flat over his lower abdomen; using the other ringed hand to spank his ass intermittently, certainly leaving some kind if red imprint; and sing-song-ing the most obscene string of words.

“You’re such a perfect fucktoy for me, darling,” he said, pushing down with his long-healed hand. “I can feel myself inside your little body like this.” 

Taeyong’s head was spinning. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to beg properly even if he could speak. The lack of contact on his cock was creating a bubble of pressure in his lower body, growing tighter and more uncomfortable with every passing second even as pleasure curled his toes over his head. He mewled, shoulders shuddering as Yuta kept going and Taeyong felt like he was melting skin first; like he’d been flayed there for his lover. His cock jolted pathetically, more precome spilling out. He needed to come again, but he knew it would remain difficult to gain permission, and it wouldn’t be satisfying if he didn’t get some contact. 

He squealed around the gag as more heavy begging died before he could even voice it. 

Yuta smiled indulgently and swiped his hands over Taeyong’s torso, thumbing at Taeyong’s hips, then up to his nipples and admiring the string of even more sounds he drew out. 

“My dumb baby doesn’t know how to use his words,” he said, and Taeyong couldn’t take it: his bubble burst.

Yuta slowed his thrusts, cutting off the very end of Taeyong’s orgasm and making him whine. On the one hand, Taeyong was frustrated. On the other, the sensitivity of coming untouched multiple times was threatening to turn painful. He didn’t know which sensation annoyed him more. Either way, it all seemed to delight Yuta. 

“It’s a pity you’re being so stubborn, baby,” Yuta said, pulling out and off the bed. “You usually beg so nicely.” Taeyong clenched against the air, a bereft heat pricking his skin. He didn’t know how much more of Yuta’s game he could take, but he was ready to try. 

Yuta stroked himself, walking around the side of the bed and leaning slightly forward towards Taeyong’s weeping face. He aligned his dick with Taeyong’s mouth and Taeyong instinctually moved his chin to offer his lips up in vain since Yuta had already stuffed them cruelly with something else. Yuta pulled his hard cock towards him, then released it, letting it smack against Taeyong’s face and the ball gag. 

“You’re such a sweet thing, aren’t you?” he said. “Trying to suck me off even when you know you can’t. I appreciate that so much.”

_ Thank you, sir _ .  _ I try to be sweet _ . It came out as a set of muffled notes. Yuta went on, skirting his hands over Taeyong’s legs and then teasing around his hole as he spoke, making Taeyong jerk against the touch. 

“I also appreciate that if you can’t be bothered to beg, you at least make up for it by coming so pretty and hard for me.” Taeyong’s face felt like he had a bad sunburn. “In fact, I appreciate it so much…” Yuta didn’t finish his thought verbally, instead leaning over to remove the gag from Taeyong’s mouth.  _ Thank god _ . 

Taeyong’s short elation dissipated however, when Yuta replaced the gag with his dick. Was he just going to be gagged like this now? Taeyong suckled on it from the side, doing his best with the angle as his eyes went wide and glassy at the man above him. Yuta reached down to wrap one hand around Taeyong’s cock, holding it steady and dragging the tip against his other palm. 

Taeyong spasmed, the touch he’d been longing for so badly turning almost excruciating after two previous orgasms. 

“Mmmmm, does it hurt, angel?” Yuta breathed, arching an eyebrow.

Taeyong nodded and “mm-hm’d,” the sound humming through Yuta and making him groan lowly, looking a little lost. It was the first indication Taeyong had gotten all night of just how much this was affecting the other man. 

Taeyong continued twitching against his restraints as he dribbled thinly over Yuta’s hand. In a brief moment of lucidity, he tried to imagine just how wrecked and disgusting he must have looked, but the thought became too much, and he banished it to the best of his ability. 

Yuta removed himself from Taeyong’s mouth, giving Taeyong the opportunity to speak for the first time since he’d agreed to this, and he took full advantage when Yuta ordered him to beg. 

“Please, sir. I need it. I – ah!” Taeyong jerked as his slit rubbed a hard circle into Yuta’s hand. For a fleeting moment, It felt like someone had stuck a thin needle into the base of his spine. He gathered himself and started up again, wagering that he was running out of seconds before he lost control for a third time. He tried concentrating on burying each little spasm of pain or pleasure before it could run its full course. 

“I – I need to come so bad, sir. Please let me. I’ll be good next time! I’mmmmm mmm sorry. I can’t take this anymore; I need your permission…” He trailed off into a moan. 

Evidently, Yuta was going to make this just a tad more difficult. “Yeah? You need it that bad, hm? This is how you should have done it this whole time, pet. I almost don’t think I should reward a boy who can’t follow instructions until he’s such a mess he’s gagging for it.” Taeyong sobbed as Yuta continued teasing his tip mercilessly. He was shaking. “But,”  _ thank you thank you thank you _ , “since you asked so nicely. Come for me, Yonggie. I wanna feel how you need it.”

Taeyong came in little squirts against Yuta’s hands, feeling punched-out and tingly as he moaned in his throat and bounced between his restraints. 

His brain fuzzed over as Yuta let him ride it out, but he was just aware enough to open his mouth in invitation when he caught Yuta jerking himself off next to his face in his peripheral vision, licking up his boyfriend’s release as best he could as it landed on his face and mouth. He hummed in appreciation, unable to form real words. 

Yuta slowed his strokes, head hanging back. “Fuck, baby.”

Taeyong giggled, utterly loopy. The edges of his vision wouldn’t quite register, but he did notice small things he’d been disregarding in the Throes of Passion, like the clunking whirr of the electric fan they’d bought last month from a secondhand store. It was quite loud, as usual. He closed his eyes and focused on the sound, giggling harder at himself that he hadn’t heard it since Yuta had started touching him. He’d assumed it was just switched off.

Yuta’s voice drifted into Taeyong’s consciousness alongside the noise of the fan. “Baby, you okay? Can you nod or snap or something?”

Taeyong did both at once, feeling Yuta’s fingers working at loosening the rope on his right ankle. He opened his eyes to find Yuta’s face hovering over him between his legs.

“There he is,” Yuta said softly as Taeyong’s leg sprang free. He grinned down at Taeyong, stupidly wide, and started on the other. 

“Hi,” Taeyong said, though it came out as little more than a raspy whisper. His other leg popped down to the bed and he stretched his lower back gingerly over the mattress, skin rubbing comfortably over the sheets. Yuta started on his right wrist. 

“You did so well, darling,” he said, and Taeyong thanked him,  _ sir _ , as he registered the drying come still on his face.  _ God _ , he thought,  _ that’s disgusting _ . His pupils must have been trailing the edges of his eyes to try and survey the damage, because Yuta addressed it the second the knot untangled.  _ One more left _ .

“I know, darling, I know,” he said. “I’ll clean you up in just a moment. I wanted to get you out of these ropes first so you could relax.”

Taeyong hummed in appreciation, still not too big on the idea of words (the irony of that fact striking him like Yuta’s handprints on his ass). 

Yuta grabbed the hand he’d just finished untying and leaned over to kiss the knuckles. His lips tickled Taeyong’s skin. 

“Hey,” he said. “I love you.”

Taeyong smiled so hard it hurt. “Love you too.”

And with that, Yuta turned to the bathroom, beaming and promising only to be gone a second.

*** 

Nearly six months in, Taeyong had developed a cursory familiarity with the city he’d seen for the first time rising out of the sea in glimmering glass and lush green from the window of the Angel of Hong Kong. It didn’t feel like home, but it felt a whole lot better than a Yamaguchi knife against his throat. 

He’d quickly fallen into a routine there, to the point that he would need to challenge himself at times to take new streets, eat at new restaurants, or drive out to a fishing town on the edge of the city and just fool around by himself if he had a free afternoon. 

During the day, he usually worked at the port with Kunhang, Yangyang, and Dejun, managing orders, loading crates, negotiating with skeptical Mitsubishi employees, and getting the best tan of his life. His Japanese actually came in handy on the docks, since the company which enabled their illegal activities was Tokyo-based. He felt glad to be of some use. 

A few times a month though, Taeyong would be tasked with accompanying some configuration of Ten, Yukhei, Sicheng and occasional others who were obviously more difficult to communicate with (so far, he’d managed to introduce himself to Triads named Yifan, Yixing, Zitao, and Luhan, each of whom were a bit older with extensive experience that scared the shit out of Taeyong when he thought about it too much). These missions mostly consisted of conducting hits on rival gangsters or businessmen who were getting in the way of their operations.

More often than not, Taeyong would be sent to help kill people without any context for why he was doing it. He thought about what Yuta had said to him the morning after their goodbye party, about just following directions and muting your conscience. He didn’t know if he was more screwed up from not knowing anything regarding his targets or from the idea of finding out. He didn’t want to know, but as all these missions began blending together in his mind, he did know he would at least never forget the first one: Ten had handed him a compact machine gun and led him into a windowless noodle shop, where they were expected to unleash a rain of bullets on a group of men in black suits meeting around a circular table after the restaurant was technically closed. Taeyong could never forget the way his gun’s muzzle disrupted the screen of beads in the entryway nor the dark blood splattered on the lime-green walls. He could never forget staring down at a dead man on the floor before running away, wondering like a member of a firing squad, if the man had died by Taeyong’s bullet or by Ten’s.

As usual, the thing rescuing Taeyong from caving in on himself after these occasional brushes with murder was his relationships: his new friends, and most of all, his aforementioned domestic bliss with Yuta. Sure, his life was more violent than it had been before, but it was also so much more full of love. And at least he felt something. In fact, between being in love and being a bringer of death, he probably felt too much, but he hadn’t been bitten for it yet, so he chose not to worry. 

Yuta, as far as Taeyong could tell, had a more administrative role, working in an office he shared with Kun and being called in to rough people up while Kun interrogated them. He didn’t seem to have a strong opinion on the work, but he liked exploring Hong Kong in his free time and Taeyong assumed he, too, was relieved not to have the threat of Yamaguchi retribution constantly nipping at his heels. 

On Saturday mornings, Taeyong and Yuta attended language classes for foreigners because, big surprise: Yukhei was not the best, nor the most available tutor. Taeyong felt so silly at his desk the first day, both he and Yuta struggling through basic sentences and addressing the teacher with extreme politeness and respect as everyone else in the room looked on in utter confusion at the two obvious criminals just chilling and taking notes, conducting themselves like model students. They’d laughed about it after their first day, but months in now, Taeyong had integrated himself into the class pretty well. Last session, he’d used his Cantonese skills to explain to a sweet Portuguese woman named Laura that he had gotten his first tattoo (which was a simple black dragon on his chest, peaking just barely up out of his collar) to remind him that the ‘yong’ part of his name imbued him with the creature’s strong spirit. She had nodded and smiled the whole time. 

On evenings neither he nor Yuta worked, they would either stay home and cook together or let Yukhei drag them out on “adventures,” running down his list of must-see spots around the city. Highlights included watching the sunset from Victoria Peak, drinking milk tea on the orange pleather benches of a teahouse that floated on the harbor as salty breeze drifted in through plastic window screens, and going to a dance hall with super cheap drinks in an old theater from the thirties.

On second thought, that last one had been more awkward than fun for a whole slew of reasons. Obviously, Taeyong and Yuta couldn’t really dance together the way they wanted to, and between the whole gay situation and the language situation, finding a dance partner was not an enticing undertaking. 

That had  _ not _ been the case for Yukhei, who bounced between every pretty girl in the establishment all night, grinning at his friends and containing his enthusiastic movements just enough to be a good dancer. Taeyong, Yuta, and Ten spent part of the night chatting at a table and keeping an eye on their young comrade, downing drinks like a group of middle-aged British expats out with wives they hated. Ten held a particularly frustrated sadness behind his eyes, unable to pull them away from Yukhei for much of the night. It sent Taeyong into a bit of a state. He insisted the three uncomfortable gays go dance in a circle somewhere to distract themselves. 

Ten was better after that – mostly because he’d consumed enough Moutai to tranquilize an elephant, and if “better” meant laughing his head off and calling Yukhei a “man-whore” and some other unrecognizable Thai pejoratives when he left with an arm around his 400 th dance partner.

Ever since their conversation at his going away party, Taeyong had found himself semi-regularly wondering just how okay Ten really was. He had come to the conclusion that Ten was not, in fact, okay, but that he was also probably the most unbreakable person Taeyong had ever met. 

On the night of their first hit as a team – so Taeyong’s first altogether – Ten noticed that Taeyong didn’t seem to be processing it all too well. As he put it, Taeyong looked “like one of the robots in that Robot Tank video game right before it explodes.” 

Yuta had been off accompanying Kun on some business, so rather than let a malfunctioning Taeyong return home to an empty apartment, Ten had invited him over to his. The space was small and messy in a tasteful way. The walls were covered in film posters, record sleeves, and framed photos from his early life in Thailand. Most of the furniture looked like it was at least forty years old, including a coffee table made out of a traditional Vietnamese fishing basket that Taeyong particularly coveted. Ten slipped into the silk bathrobe he apparently always wore at home, made the two of them some tea, and introduced Taeyong to the wonders of Chet Baker while they talked until four in the morning. Taeyong left the interaction confident that Ten was such a particularly defined individual that things would have to work out for him in the end. He just seemed like he was  _ somebody _ . Yuta had that sense about him too. Taeyong considered himself a plain interruption in a sea of somebodies. 

Taeyong also acquainted himself well with the little forest-green postage boxes stationed around the city. He was determined to stay in touch with those he had left temporarily behind, and he called his friends and sister often, but he made it a special project to write letters semi-regularly too. He liked the comforting visual of familiar handwriting.

About a month ago, he received a letter from his sister with a special attachment: a baby-blue cardstock invitation reading “Save the Date: Hye-young and Hansol.” It would be a summer wedding, only a couple months before Yuta and Momo’s was supposed to be. Taeyong had barely found out about this boyfriend before he was marrying his sister. He remembered looking at the paper in his hands, gulping and feeling equally elated for his sister and crestfallen at the idea of attending and facing his family. 

Out of all the Inagawa-kai guys, Taeyong probably kept in closest contact with Jungwoo, interestingly. It had taken him the first three months of living in Hong Kong to make his way through the jumbo bag of lollipops (during which time, both he and Jungwoo took up their colleagues’ cancerous habit) and he had made sure to keep Jungwoo updated on his progress. On Jungwoo’s end, he kept Taeyong updated on the workings of the Akihabara electronics shop where he had worked a brief stint at the beginning of his life as a gangster. According to Jungwoo, they had brought on a couple newbies to help them out while he and Mark took on more responsibility. Shotaro was a troublemaking street kid who had tried to pickpocket Johnny and failed. Johnny had given Shotaro quite a fright, but promised him he wouldn’t be punished if he did a little work for the syndicate. Apparently, he and his friend Sungchan were a package deal, so the Inagawa-kai ended up with both of them. 

Jungwoo also kept Taeyong updated on what he knew about the Yamaguchi-gumi, which was increasingly positive as the months wore on. “These dolts have the memories of goldfish, Goro says,” Jungwoo had assured. 

It always made Taeyong’s heart hurt a little bit to get updates from his sister and from Jungwoo - and from anyone else who bothered to call. As much as he appreciated his temporary home, he couldn’t help feeling a bit out of place. If he felt out of place as a Korean in Japan, living in Hong Kong felt like purgatory; a really entertaining purgatory with good food, but still. He just constantly had to remind himself this was all real – that he was actually experiencing everything around him and it wasn’t some kind of simulation.

That’s where Yuta came in. If it had done anything, living in Hong Kong had solidified the sense Taeyong had felt all along that Yuta was his anchor. He was the one aspect in Taeyong’s life that seemed to tether him to reality and convince him it was all worth sticking around for. Sometimes Yuta would tease Taeyong for staring at him kind of all the time, but Taeyong knew Yuta loved it. And Taeyong loved it too. He loved that Yuta was  _ his _ person who he could look at all he wanted. He could get lost in just gazing, smiling to himself stupidly like a middle schooler with a crush, and he didn’t have to care. Looking at Yuta was Taeyong’s best reminder that everything would be okay. He was loved and cared for by a  _ somebody _ , and through all the insanity, he would be okay. 

///

“Do you need to keep an eye on that, love?” 

Yuta sat himself down at the dining table and smirked at his boyfriend. Taeyong stood at the stove holding a spoon and utterly neglecting a pan full of sauce, preferring to trace Yuta’s every movement with his eyes. Taeyong was wont to get distracted, and this was especially true on days off when he and Yuta could spend as much time loving each other as they wanted to. It had taken Taeyong almost an hour to come back to himself after Yuta had returned to clean him up, mumbling the second he regained his voice that he felt like he had “been visited by a succubus.” Yuta assumed Taeyong’s bones still felt a little like the mango jellies he enjoyed so much, but he had still insisted on cooking.

Taeyong startled a bit, then smiled to himself lazily, returning to the task of preparing gaji namul. They usually made Japanese food at home, or recipes they learned from their Triad buddies, but sometimes Taeyong really craved something Korean. 

“I have this all under control,” Taeyong lilted, doing a waving gesture to indicate to the entire stovetop. “Don’t you worry about me.” 

Yuta pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. “I would never,” he said, placing it between his lips to light it. He smiled around it and raked his eyes over Taeyong’s body as he turned his attention more fully towards cooking. Yuta laughed internally, wondering how he could ever have gotten so lucky and trying to tamp down his invasive housewife-Taeyong-related thoughts. 

If he was being honest with himself, Yuta thought he had hooked someone a bit out of his league in Taeyong. Taeyong was the most beautiful human Yuta had ever had the privilege of meeting, and on top of that, he was so thoughtful and kindhearted despite his circumstances. 

If he was being honest with himself, Yuta was a little shocked Taeyong hadn’t left him yet, and he was a little shocked by the things Taeyong let him do to him. Yuta had grown nearly obsessed with Taeyong almost immediately and would have been satisfied simply by having his feelings returned. Denying this to Taeyong in his car that night had wracked him with guilt and self-loathing for days, even if it was what he genuinely believed was best at the time. Once it had driven him so crazy that he had to right his wrong, Yuta had been so elated by the reciprocation that he couldn’t have even dreamed of wanting Taeyong any other way. 

It wasn’t until Taeyong had asked for it himself that Yuta started being rougher with him. Taeyong was the first person with whom it had gone that way for Yuta, he recalled. That was Taeyong’s power then, he figured, that he could turn the leader of the Inagawa-kai  _ Toras _ timid. It still blew Yuta away, the way Taeyong just kept asking.

Taeyong swayed his hips absently to whatever was playing over the radio as he heated the pan for another side dish, humming along not because he knew what it was, but because he was always a little noise machine when he was comfortable and he was good at anticipating a melody. Yuta smiled to himself and went to crack the window open wider. Taeyong pouted.

“Yuta, it’s so hot…” he whined.

Yuta shook his head as he sat back down and tapped some of the ash from his cigarette into their ashtray. “Sorry, darling, but I have to let some of this smoke out.”

Before Taeyong could protest any further, the purple plastic phone they kept in the kitchen rang so loudly, Yuta initially thought it was a fire alarm before recognizing the familiar chime. This somehow happened every time they got a call.

“Yes, hello,” Yuta began in try-hard Cantonese. A woman’s voice on the other end came through with a little rasp, speaking merciful Japanese.

“Is that you, Yuta-san?” 

Yuta’s brow furrowed in recognition. 

“Momo?” He registered Taeyong spinning around to face him in his peripheral vision at the utterance of that name. Yuta pulled the phone across the room with him to sit back down at the table, nodding to his boyfriend in confirmation.

“Yes, Yuta, it’s Momo. I have such difficulty recognizing your voice in Chinese.”

Yuta chuckled, taking a drag and exchanging a fond smile with Taeyong. “That’s just because I sound so much like a native speaker,” he teased.

Momo laughed over the line. “Is that why?” she snarked. “Anyway, how are you doing?”

“I’m quite well, thanks. Yourself?”

“I’m well. It’s been busy preparing for a wedding without you here.”

Yuta pinched the phone into the crook of his neck for a moment to adjust his seat and tap some ash into the glass ashtray on the table.

“I can imagine. Sorry I can’t help out really.” Yuta’s eyes flitted up to where Taeyong was watching him. It made Yuta a little nervous that Taeyong wasn’t fully focused on the stove, but he knew Taeyong was an exceptional cook, so it was probably fine.

Momo cackled over the phone. It was just her normal laugh, but Yuta thought of it as a cackle anyway, since it certainly sounded like one. 

“And I’m sorry we can’t marry the people we really want to,” Yuta went on, unnecessarily. 

He heard his bride-to-be sigh on the other end. “Yuta, you’re such a romantic. But I know what you mean. This’ll be good. You know better than anyone how rumors fly. Our wedding will put everything to rest and take the wind out of the sails of any Yamaguchi stragglers still trying to slander you and drive you out of the underground.”

Yuta hummed. He knew Momo was right. Not to mention the fact that if they waited around to marry their real loves, they would be waiting around forever. It could be a lot worse. 

“Well,” he began, crushing the butt of his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. Taeyong’s cooking was starting to smell too good and compete too harshly with the burning smell of his smoke. “I’ll be back soon to mess up all your hard work and planning with my tacky taste and bad opinions. How does that sound?”

Yuta swore he could hear the sound of a smile creeping into Momo’s voice. “I can’t wait.”

“Mm, perfect. How are you and Sana?”

“We’re good. Sana is very charitable with me and very patient with our lifestyle, though it’s not always easy. We adopted a cat.”

Yuta chuckled at the abrupt change in tone.

“Oh, well, then everything must be going swimmingly.”

Momo cackled again. “You know my father though; he puts her through an interrogation every chance he gets.”

“Goodness. Not a real one I hope.”

This time, Yuta swore he could hear Momo rolling her eyes. 

They moved on to other topics smoothly. Momo gave Yuta one of his regular updates on gang business and asked his opinion on a few wedding logistics. Johnny was still doing well and would be travelling to Akita Prefecture soon to check in with local efforts to rebuild from the Nihonkai-Chubu earthquake that had occurred a year earlier. Inagawa provided significant aid and relief to local communities devastated by the quake and Goro was sending Johnny to reconnect and chart their progress.

“The real question is whether Johnny will let me have my job back,” Yuta joked. Part of him almost wished Johnny would keep control of the wheel and let Yuta ride shotgun for once. He’d had enough excitement the previous fall for a lifetime.

Momo confirmed that business for the syndicate was good and that Yamaguchi-gumi aggression was basically a thing of the past – they weren’t even thinking to look out for Yuta anymore. Goro was making preparations to welcome Yuta and Taeyong back in early summer.

Taeyong had been glancing over his shoulder at Yuta intermittently throughout the entire call, eyes slightly nervous in a way that set Yuta on edge. Once Taeyong had his cooking enough under control to let it sit on the stove for a few minutes, he sauntered over to the table and draped himself over Yuta, sat on his lap with his ear pressed to the speaker of the phone. The sticky heat which penetrated the room through the open window made Taeyong appear to move in slow motion, and with him so close, Yuta could see the legs of sweat glistening on Taeyong’s skin. Taeyong reached out and ran his fingers through Yuta’s fading auburn hair mindlessly as he listened in on the conversation.

“Hi Momo!” Taeyong chimed into the phone during a brief silence. He made eye contact with Yuta as he carried on.

“Hi Taeyong. Are you taking care of our  _ Shategashira _ for us?”

“Absolutely,” Taeyong said with a wink that made Yuta feel too many things at once to register it all.

“And he’s treating you well?”

“Momo-san, he’s too good to me, if I’m being honest,” Taeyong said.

Yuta wanted to wrap his arms around the man above him, but that would only result in both of them getting hotter and stickier, and he wasn’t sure if that was wise.

Taeyong and Momo caught up on a few life developments and exchanged promises to become best friends and sister-wives or whatever when reunited. Then, Yuta took the receiver back and wrapped up the call. Taeyong hung up the phone on the wall for him, then came to reclaim his perch on Yuta’s lap. Yuta looked up at Taeyong, all sweet and sticky and golden like the human embodiment of honey. Taeyong’s big, glassy eyes looked right back at him as Taeyong leaned forward onto Yuta’s shoulder, angling his head so he wouldn’t break their mutual gaze.

The position should have been arousing, with Taeyong straddling Yuta’s lap and all the skin stuck on skin. Maybe it was the lethargy of humid heat, the exhaustion of strenuous sex, or the comfort Yuta found in Taeyong more than in any other person, but all Yuta could bring himself to feel was a deep – if precarious – peace.

“I wonder what I’ll be doing in the syndicate when we get back,” Taeyong pondered softly. It seemed like a leading question to Yuta. This was something which would need to be worked out with Goro, and Yuta found himself wrestling again with the delicate balance between worrying for Taeyong’s safety and respecting his autonomy. It happened every time this topic came up.

“You know you don’t have to keep doing this if you don’t want to,” Yuta decided to say, cautious as ever. He was no longer worried about Taeyong leaving him – at least not for his profession – so he tried to banish any selfishness.

Taeyong blinked, adjusting his head. “Do you not want me to?”

Here Taeyong went, trying to break Yuta’s heart in miniature for the millionth time.

“I want you to do whatever you want to do. I love having you around, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t love the idea of you getting used to so much violence; to killing.”

Yuta ran his hand over Taeyong’s back; over the ribbed fabric of the thin tank top he had on. It was the hand that was still a little mangled despite having healed from the Yamaguchi interrogation. Taeyong spoke into the skin over Yuta’s clavicle.

“But you’re used to it,” Taeyong reasoned, “and I still think you’re good.”

Yuta smiled indulgently.  _ Indulgent _ . He couldn’t help but indulge Taeyong.

“I know,” he allowed. “That’s fair, I guess. I just worry about you. I love you a lot. I never want anything to happen to you.”

Taeyong smiled back.

“I love you too. You make me really happy. Don’t worry about me though. That doesn’t make me happy.” Taeyong extracted his face from Yuta and leaned himself forward and up for a slow, casual kiss. It felt practiced, but not mechanical – like they had each other down to muscle memory.

“Promise to always kiss me like that, for as long as you want me,” Taeyong said once their lips parted, smiling softly and digging his sparkling gaze into Yuta’s.

“I promise,” Yuta responded, almost as if compelled.  _ I’ll always want you.  _

Yuta let his visions drift momentarily past the face before him, Taeyong’s features going fuzzy like a poorly focused photograph. In that instant, Yuta surveyed the odd temporary space the two of them had carved out in life: the emerald green of the walls, the caged-in balcony that barely fit both men, the Japanese and Korean prints framed on the walls, the radio which had switched from playing the weather report of an incoming tropical storm to British ska hits, the lightly sizzling pan of food that Taeyong should probably have been getting back to. It was a far cry from what Yuta had pictured as a fifteen-year-old leaving home for Tokyo, but it was better, in his humble estimation.

But alas, Taeyong had a face that demanded attention, so Yuta didn’t reflect on his dwelling for any longer. How could he?

“Promise that no matter what,” Taeyong continued, “when we’re reborn in the next life as little beetles or something as punishment for our sins, you’ll still find me and kiss me with our weird pincer mouths or whatever.”

Yuta didn’t know what to say to  _ that _ , but he found it painfully endearing. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling.

“God, you are so fucking weird,” is what he decided to say.

Taeyong’s face dropped in response, a half-serious pout gracing his lips. “C’mon, promise?”

“I promise,” Yuta assured. “Always, forever, anything you ask…I promise.”

Taeyong smiled and slipped his arms around Yuta’s neck. Yuta knew he was telling the truth. He couldn’t guarantee how their relationship would manifest in the long run, but it undoubtedly felt like a forever thing.

“Good,” said Taeyong, eyes glimmering. “I promise too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's officially over! Thank you to everyone who supported this fic! It's my fave thing I have ever written, as well as the longest, and I really appreciate the positive feedback :)

**Author's Note:**

> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/15DDFM6prjhg3BPtsWx99l?si=wT740xNcSr2MNvVnyy9bFQ) for this fic  
> my [tumblr](https://nakamoto-l.tumblr.com/)


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